National Muggle Day
by Athena G
Summary: Wizarding Wireless Network: "...and found that you've picked up you wand? Put it down again, folks. That's right. It's the first Saturday in July. Which means that National Muggle Day has come upon us..." ADMM. INCOMPLETE (& probably staying that way).
1. The Animagus Register

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters but I do like to play around with them. No copyright infringement intended.

_**The Animagus Register**_

_July 1956_

The quill in Minerva's hand scratched harshly across the ancient spotted piece of parchment that had been placed on an enormous table in a large conference room at the Ministry of Magic. Three Ministry wizards stood around her chair looking over her shoulder, watching closely to ensure that she didn't deceive them.

As she signed her name, she was thankful that the purple ink did not blot as it has occasion to do when parchment is particularly coarse. The precautions that were being taken for this 'ceremony' were already absurd, and she didn't want to upset anyone by dropping beads of ink over her name, making it illegible.

Minerva set the quill carefully down next to the crumbling yellow parchment and stared at her name written neatly, if a little wobbly from the uneven surface, at the bottom of a list of roughly thirty other names, some of which had been signed hundreds of years ago. There were only eleven names on the register whose ink had not darkened to black. Minerva thought she knew what that meant.

"Congratulations, Miss McGonagall," said a wheezing voice behind her.

She stood and turned to face the man who had been the last of the three wizards to enter the room before the formal ceremony had begun. He was a tiny man who looked almost as old as the parchment she had just signed. His face was undulating with deep wrinkles and his eyebrows were drooping and falling heavily over his eyes, almost closing them completely. He was smiling at her and holding out one very lined hand which had huge veins popping up like long blue worms under the skin. Minerva shook it delicately – not wishing for the man to crumble before her very eyes – and was surprised when she felt him grip her own hand very firmly.

"Thank you, sir," she said with a smile.

She had known this man's name even before she had been introduced. Rex Kippleford: the forth to last person to have signed the document that was lying on the table – his name was still purple, but Minerva wasn't sure that it would remain so for much longer.

Minerva shook hands with the two other Ministry employees who were also congratulating her (though rather less warmly that Kippleford). One whose name she had not caught when he arrived in the room earlier, and the other who had introduced himself, rather pompously in Minerva's opinion, as 'Lord Arrowby, Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and personal friend of the Minister for Magic, but you may call me Your Lordship'.

Minerva actually found it rather offensive that he was present at the ceremony at all. She was not a magical creature after all, but a witch who could take animal form. His handshake was firm as well, but not in the same way as Kippleford's. Arrowby squeezed her knuckles together very tightly, crushing her hand in his strong grip. He was a huge man in every way. His head was bald and shiny under the light from the sconces in the room, and his forehead and top lip were moist with sweat, presumably from having to stand for so long with such a huge bulk.

Minerva felt a hand at her elbow and turned back to Kippleford who was smiling kindly at her. She moved out from behind her chair and his hand gripped her elbow firmer. He walked her to the large window at the back of the room that was throwing pink summer evening light across the large polished table. His walk was surprisingly agile; he had not needed Minerva's elbow for support as she had initially thought, but simply as the gesture that it was – to move her across the room.

"I am full of beans, Miss McGonagall." Yes, she had already noticed that. "You are the first female to sign that piece of paper in over two centuries. And so young too," he added. "I was sixty when I successfully achieved my animagus form, and you are… oh, I do beg your pardon," he said, forgetting himself in his excitement.

Minerva smiled at the old man. "Not to worry, sir," she reassured him. "I am not yet thirty."

"Not yet thirty indeed," he said happily. "And yet you sign the Animagus Register of 1337 as if it were a daily activity. Where are your friends and family? _Very_ modest, Miss McGonagall. This is an incredible accomplishment and yet you have had an unexceptional ceremony with no guests to honour it with."

Minerva took her time to respond to his question. Her friends need not be bothered with something as dreary as the signing of a piece of parchment, and she had a very busy family who had no time to come to such events in the middle of the week, even if it was an evening. They knew she had achieved her animagus form anyway and were proud of her, no matter what they had thought of the idea at first. They did not need a ceremony to tell them what they already knew. Besides, the ceremony only made it official by law.

"I am seeing them on Saturday instead," Minerva told the tiny man.

"Ah, yes… Saturday," he replied, the happy tone of his wheeze turning momentarily into one of impatience. He was most certainly not enthusiastic about Saturday. "Ah, well," he continued, heaving a sigh. "Saturday will come whether we'd like it to or not. We can't have everything in life. Although there is one thing I would like right now." The man's cheerful rasp had returned in full force. Minerva quirked her eyebrow in question. "Will you do me the honour of changing for me, Miss McGonagall?"

Minerva nodded briefly at his request. "I'd be glad to. But I hope that I am to be given the same honour, sir."

"Together then," Kippleford said.

Without even a small _pop_, where there should have been two human beings instead stood a tabby cat in a gleaming coat and a tiny hedge-sparrow standing quietly next to it. It was an unusual sensation for Minerva. She had never come across an animagus whilst in her cat form as far as she knew, and was surprised. She would have had no idea that this bird was not a real hedge-sparrrow if she had come across it in the wild. It was quite remarkable.

The little sparrow that was Rex Kippleford hopped over to the tabby cat and bounced around her front legs. Minerva's instinct was to bend her head and sniff the little bird, but she refrained, thinking it would probably seem rather impolite, so instead she simply lowered her head to get a closer look at this bird that wasn't a bird.

In the world above them, the two other wizards had been talking when they noticed a sudden hush to the voices that had been by the window. As they turned they saw the most peculiar sight, and probably one that no one had ever witnessed before – a sparrow and a cat harmoniously inspecting each other.

Minerva's ear flicked as she heard the men speak. It was as if Arrowby at least thought that now she was a cat she could no longer understand or even hear them.

"Outrageous," he cried indignantly. "We come all the way down here to watch this witch sign an official, law abiding, and might I add _sacred_ parchment and to make sure nothing is out of the ordinary, we have to go through all these ridiculous charms, and all she can do is mess around in her… in her… as _that_."

"Now, now, Your Lordship," said the other man with a growl. "This animagus malarkey is necessary for the Ministry. If she weren't to sign the thing then no one would know what type of animal she becomes. Or even that she is an animagus. It's not as though it happens often, and if you hadn't noticed she is not the only one who has changed form. Let her enjoy it."

Arrowby harrumphed at the other man. "Well all these precautions are nonsense. Spells at the door," he waved a hand at the only entrance to the room. "_Three_ ministry members present when one will surely suffice, summoning the parchment with the most complicated spell casting I've seen for anything so trivial… who decided all this anyway."

The other man smirked. "Your friend the Minister, I believe."

If Minerva could smile in her cat form she would have done. Kippleford had stopped bouncing about and was listening too. Minerva thought she heard a tiny cheep come from his little beak.

Lord Arrowby, standing opposite the man with no name, had turned scarlet and had begun spluttering incoherently, his huge cheeks and many chins jiggling as he did so. Finally he took a deep breath and stiffened, and found his words, though they were rather strained.

"Yes, well, I'm sure he had his reasons. Good, good." He cleared his throat. "Miss – Mc – Gon – a – gall," he called loudly and slowly, as if Minerva was not only a cat but also a severely dim-witted cat.

Minerva and Rex Kippleford popped back to their human forms, both wearing smiles to match the nameless wizard's.

"I believe we are finished here," Arrowby continued, speaking normally again now that Minerva was in her human form. "There really is no usual way to go about this as it happens so infrequently, so I suggest that we all be off home and have done. Good evening." And with that, Lord Arrowby left the room, still red faced and uncomfortable from his unintentional slight of his 'friend' the Minister.

"Congratulations again, Miss McGonagall," Kippleford wheezed, preparing to depart as well. "I believe I can sincerely say that I know how hard you have worked as I went through it all myself. You are a very charming young lady. It's been a pleasure to meet you." He shook her hand once again, and after a small bow, turned and bounded out of the room, saying, "And I hope you enjoy your maddening Saturday."

Minerva smiled after Kippleford, astonished at how frail he appeared at first glance, but how much energy he actually possessed. Their brief meeting had been a thrill for Minerva. She had never met another animagus before and Kippleford had been very agreeable.

Someone cleared their throat behind her. Minerva turned and saw the nameless wizard looking at her with a piercing stare.

"You'll want to watch that one," the man said gruffly. "He's a bit of a sweet-talker when it comes to young ladies."

Minerva wasn't sure whether to be sceptical of this declaration or surprised or disgusted, so she remained silent. The man had taken out his wand and was about to begin casting a spell over the parchment. He was a young man, not a lot older than Minerva, she would have guessed. She was suddenly curious as to why he had been called as one of the witnesses to the signing of the Animagus Register.

"Which department are you from, sir?" she asked politely.

"None of that 'sir' nonsense if you please," he said abruptly. "I have no authority over you. Call me Alastor if you'll call me anything. I work in the Auror Headquarters." Minerva's face must have shown her surprise because Alastor looked at her and grinned. "Ask your question then," he said.

"Why are you here?" she said promptly.

"My department have been talking," he said, pointing his wand at the table where two cups of tea immediately appeared. He waved his free hand silently for Minerva to take one. "We may have use for an animagus one of these days."

He said nothing more. Minerva took a sip of the tea and put it back on the table immediately. Three sugars at least had been stirred into the usually refreshing liquid.

"You may want to know whether the animagus in question would _want_ to become a member in the Auror Headquarters. She perhaps would not wish to," Minerva said with warning. She did not appreciate being ferried around the Ministry, even if it was only in the thoughts of others.

Alastor looked over at Minerva with a raised eyebrow. She knew her remark came as a surprise, but she would not have said it if he had been a little more tactful. It would have been nice to be asked before it was presumed. Minerva had met many Ministry of Magic employees who were very good at assumptions, and now Alastor had apparently joined the list. It was irrelevant that he happened to be correct about Minerva wanting to join that particular department.

As he looked away from her, Minerva just caught a glimpse of a smile. Apparently he was pleased with her response. Wishing to change the conversation, Minerva asked what Alastor was doing, for he had begun to wave his wand back over the old parchment on the table.

"I'm casting the spell over the Animagus Register which adds your name to the registers all over the country. Simple really. Then I have to banish the parchment back to the Restricted Records Office."

"_Restricted_ Records Office?"

"It means that you can't get to the Register unless you know the charms that are guarding it and the proper spells to cast, otherwise anyone could mess about with it and purposefully add people with the wrong animal or the right one with different markings, or _take people off_," he said distrustfully.

"I see. Do _you_ know how to summon it?" Minerva asked curiously.

"No," Alastor replied. "I only know how to put it back, which is easy enough. Lord Arrogant who you met before knows; that was why he had to come along. He wasn't too pleased about it either. You probably gathered that much."

Minerva nodded distractedly. That small piece of information was a comfort. It was good to know Lord Arrowby wasn't at the ceremony because he was head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but simply because he knew how to summon a piece of parchment.

x x x

That night Minerva sat on the beige ottoman under the window sill in her bedroom looking out from her modest cottage over the little muggle village below. She was not far from London, but far enough to have to apparate to work at the Ministry every day in the Department of International Magical Co-operation.

The cottage had been left to her by her Grandmother in her will, and Minerva had made full use of it, immediately moving from her pocket-sized flat in the centre of London where she breathed in the ghastly muggle fumes all night long, to the comfortable two-bedroom thatched cottage, complete with anti-muggle charms and a chimney connected to the Floo network.

Minerva smiled as she looked out over the dark lawns towards the twinkling muggle village. She had spent years studying to become an animagus. Even when she had been a student at Hogwarts School she had expressed a desire to Dumbledore that he teach her. He had not permitted it, of course; saying that she would have to have completed her NEWTs before even attempting to make a success of such an objective. And now her ambition was complete and official.

A sudden noise jerked Minerva out of her reverie and set her skin to tingling as she jumped. An owl had just jabbed its beak against a pane of glass at the window she was sitting by. Unscrewing the catch with her hand on her heart, she watched the owl soar through the window and land proudly on her bed.

"Off, off," she snapped at the creature, which hooted haughtily, but flew to her desk nonetheless.

Minerva strode to where the owl was standing with its talons clamped tighter than was necessary on her wooden desktop and untied the letter at its foot. She absentmindedly gave the large brown bird some owl treats as she glanced at the loopy writing on the front of the envelope addressed to _Miss Minerva M. McGonagall_.

TBC


	2. The Invitation

**A/N: **Thanks to those who have reviewed! They are always welcome.

_**The Invitation**_

Minerva's stomach gave a jolt as she tore open the envelope, pulled out what looked to be an invitation and read the name at the bottom. She had not heard from Dumbledore since he had last visited her at the cottage and she had declined his offer for her to join the staff at Hogwarts. That was about five years ago, if she remembered correctly. Dumbledore had just become Headmaster and needed a teacher to fill the post he was leaving.

The position of Professor of Transfiguration had greatly appealed to Minerva, but she was just settling into her job at the Ministry and was about to begin the final stage of her animagus training, and so had turned down the offer.

Dumbledore had seemed rather disappointed at the time. He had said that Hogwarts would be deprived of one of the finest witches the country had to offer, but instead of trying to persuade her, he had graciously understood her reasons and had left the cottage soon after.

There was of course another reason for not taking the post, which Minerva did not mention to Dumbledore, but then again she tended not to mention it to herself either, though she was fully aware of it. She had rarely thought about her feelings for Dumbledore. A relationship with him was so implausible and fanciful that it really wasn't to anyone's advantage to dwell on such an absurdity.

They had had regular correspondence before the day he offered her the post, but her refusal seemed to have put a halt to their association completely. Her surprised reaction at suddenly receiving an invitation from him was therefore not only understandable, but inevitable. Her eyes rushed over the loopy characters and she established that Dumbledore was having a 'muggle merrymaking' on Saturday at his and his brother Aberforth's holiday home in Oxford._ A light midday lunch will be served. Full casual muggle clothing essential._

Saturday – the day that most witches and wizards in the country were dreading, and Albus Dumbledore was not among them. Instead he throws a party in its honour. Minerva exhaled loudly through her taut nostrils. She had been planning for months to see her family in Scotland on Saturday, but surely they had been invited to this as well. She thought her invitation was rather late.

Sitting down on the stiff wooden chair at her desk, Minerva rested her elbow on the desktop, put her chin on her hand and stared at the owl. Its claws had withdrawn somewhat and it was hooting softly on her desk. Its enormous eyes were closed and its breathing was slow.

Thinking of how sleep will not come as quickly to her tonight, she glanced back at the invitation now lying on the desk and noticed a piece of parchment protruding slightly from the envelope next to it. She would have missed it were it not for the shadow it was casting from her lamplight.

She felt the jolt to her stomach return and slowly reached for the parchment. It slid smoothly out of the envelope and Minerva vaguely perceived the difference between the quality of this parchment and that of the rough Animagus Register. She took a deep breath, opened the parchment and began to read.

_My Dear Minerva,_

_It has been too long. I very much hope you are able to accept my invite. I am aware it is rather belated and you have my permission to blame Aberforth's owl who is probably now asleep before you. I do hope it is not too late and that you have not already made plans. I have missed our conversations greatly. My invitation has of course been extended to your family._

_Do not trouble yourself with a reply. Surprises are jewels to be treasured._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Minerva read the letter through several times; the first time she wasn't sure if she'd actually read it at all. An unusual shiver was quivering through her fingers, not from fear or anxiety, but from the thought of seeing Dumbledore again after all these years and the emotions that it was already beginning to stir in her.

She hurriedly put the letter back in the envelope, but left the invitation out on her desk. She would need to write to her parents to ask them if they had changed their plans to go to Dumbledore's event instead and forgotten to tell her.

As she looked through her desk drawer for a spare piece of parchment Minerva thought about what she would wear. Saturday was only four days away and her muggle clothing was limited. She certainly did not possess an item that was suitable for a casual lunch in sweltering summer weather. She would need to find something in the muggle parts of London.

With the blank parchment on her desk and her quill in her hand, Minerva began to write a brief letter to her parents, brother and grandfather, all of whom lived in the same house in Scotland. After she signed her name, she rolled up the parchment and took it to her own owl, which apparently was more trustworthy than the one that was still asleep on her desk.

x x x

A reply came from her father two days later. Her owl had apparently rested for a day and night, and left Scotland on the Thursday morning. Minerva had come back from London late that day because she had been shopping in the muggle part of town.

She had bought a pair of cream linen trousers that were loose in the leg but nipped in flatteringly at her waist; flat, comfortable shoes which matched the colour of a sleeveless light brown top which hugged her figure and had subtle patterns down the front which Minerva believed added character. The outfit was rather lovely, she had thought, and felt light and summery as she apparated back to her cottage.

Her owl greeted her with a soft hoot from a tall magnolia tree that stood proudly in her front garden. The summer sun was sinking below the horizon and the owl's eyes had flashed brightly as the light reflected in them when it was startled by the _popping_ noise of apparition.

"I hope you have a reply from my parents with you," Minerva said to the owl she had not yet named.

It had been a gift from her brother, Cameron, after she had passed her animagus test. He had told her that owls were coming into fashion as useful pets – Cameron's business was in pet supplies. He worked in McGonagall's Menagerie, a wizard pet shop in Scotland, and he could spend hours talking about things like the best type of lettuce to give a flobberworm.

The owl followed Minerva as she opened her front door and walked into her hall. It landed on the table by the stairs, which was clear except for a large mirror and a copy of _Transfiguration Today_. Minerva placed her black pointed hat in front of the mirror next to the owl, which was standing very still, patiently waiting for Minerva as she hung her cloak on the peg by the door, took off her shoes, whisking them with her wand to stand under her cloak, and dropped her shopping bag on the bottom stair.

"Come on then," she said to the owl, which followed her once again as she made her way to the kitchen.

Summoning a bottle from her cellar, Minerva set about pouring a glass of deep plum wine. This drink always seemed to be one of the most welcome of the day, on a par with the first cup of tea in the morning. She was not sure if that was a good sign.

Minerva took the wine into her homely living room. The owl followed her once again and then flew to its perch by the hearth, still with the letter attached to its leg. Minerva flicked her wand at the fire as she walked into the room and watched it rise several feet in the grate. Then she cast a strong _flame-freezing_ charm over it so that it wouldn't give off any heat – fires in the summer were always very pleasant, but the heat was far from necessary.

The last of the summer light had been swallowed by darkness by the time Minerva moved over to the owl's perch, but the stone living room was kept cheerful by the old tapestries that her grandmother had owned which were draped over the walls and had flickered to life in the firelight.

"What have you got for me, then," Minerva asked the owl.

She settled her wineglass on the shelf over the fire, untied the scroll that was attached to the owl's leg and filled its little food bowl with pellets from a leather pouch that hung off the perch.

Picking up her wine once again, Minerva moved towards a low table in the middle of the small room which stood in between two scarlet settees that faced each other. She placed her glass on the table, sat down close to the fire on one of the settees, curled her legs up underneath her and unrolled the scroll. Her father's handwriting was distinctly messy as she read:

_Dear Minerva,_

_I'm glad to hear you are well. Yes, we are all going to Albus Dumbledore's do. Your Grandfather was a good friend of his at school. Mum and I both thought we had spoken to you of our change of plans, but obviously we were mistaken._

_Let us meet up before the do and we can all arrive together. We will apparate to your cottage tomorrow and join you at seven for dinner. I'll be by my fireside this evening if you want to make different arrangements._

_Congratulations on your animagus ceremony! Your grandfather checked and you're name is up in the register! Well done, darling. I know we have had our disagreements about it in the past, but I am very sincerely proud of you._

_Until tomorrow then, or tonight if you want to floo._

_All my love, Dad_

Minerva leant forwards, picked up her wine from the table and suddenly realised that she was smiling. The first sip of the red liquid flowed like velvet down her throat. Her smile remained. A wave of contentment washed over her as her mind took in the fact that she would be attending Dumbledore's party.

There had developed such a distance between Minerva and Dumbledore over the last five years that she had thought herself indifferent to him now, but apparently that was not so, and her smile seemed to prove it. The two days wait now seemed an age, and Minerva suddenly found herself impatient to see him.

As soon as she realised this, however, her smile faded somewhat. Something must have changed in order for Dumbledore to suddenly wish to reacquaint himself with her. Minerva swiftly became anxious about their inevitable conversation – why had they not spoken over the years? She had no answer for that; or at least not one that she could provide him with.

She glanced back at her father's letter and her stomach jerked uncomfortably. _Your Grandfather was a good friend of his at school_.

She took another sip of the fine wine.

TBC


	3. A Muggle Morning

_**A Muggle Morning**_

As Friday came, Minerva realised that she would have to wait longer than she thought for Saturday. The morning absolutely crawled by. The week's paperwork for the International Magical Office of Law had to be checked and signed and sent off or sent back on the final day of the week. This meant dozens of owls to dozens of witches and wizards around the world, numerous inter-departmental memos to be sent whizzing through the halls of the Ministry, and it also meant that Minerva was to be sat at her desk all morning, something that she could never get used to, especially when she was visiting other countries throughout most of the rest of the week.

Then a catastrophe occurred. Someone from the Japanese Ministry of Magic had leaked some information to the Tokyo wizard press about a British wizard named Atticus Fenwick who had come under scrutiny some three years after the war against Grindelwald concerning an extreme case of war atrocities against muggles and muggle-borns.

As much as the British Ministry of Magic had endeavoured to charge him however, Atticus Fenwick was still awaiting trial in Azkaban due to interference from his father, Amulius Fenwick, whose 10 year long position in the British Ministry was very high up and respectable.

The problem now was that the Japanese had got wind of a particular murder in Germany of a muggle-born Japanese Auror carried out by Atticus Fenwick just before the end of the war.

Minerva had to travel to Japan along with various other members of the British Ministry of Magic to try and help rectify the situation. It was pandemonium at the Japanese Ministry, and the problem was still unresolved when she arrived back to London after two in the morning. Several leading British Ministry members had remained behind, but Minerva's services were no longer required due to her more junior position.

She entered her cottage exhausted and exceptionally relieved that the weekend had finally come upon her. She made the familiar trip to the kitchen without taking off her shoes and cloak, and filled her wine glass a little higher than usual. Sitting down at her small oak kitchen table, her thoughts buzzed over her hectic day.

There was still a lot of work that needed to be done in her department, and she would definitely feel the effects of it over the next few weeks. It wasn't as though Minerva was not keen on her job, but there was something missing from it. She received no real gratification from it. It was simply a job that was sometimes enjoyable, sometimes tedious, often a challenge, but never really fulfilling.

She took a large sip of her wine. Was she saying this because today had been particularly strenuous? She didn't think so. It was not like her to be dissuaded only because she had had a demanding day. No. Something had been pressing in the back of her mind for a while now and she had only just begun to listen.

BANG!

Minerva's eyes shot to the ceiling. The noise had come from the floor right above her. She remained very still for several seconds, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Someone was in her house.

Putting her glass down and gripping her wand firmly, Minerva stood up as quietly as she could and trod softly and carefully out of her kitchen. She hadn't lit the lamps in the hallway when she had returned home so she had to find her way blindly up the stairs. She felt her way up the banister, her heart pounding in her ears, and arrived silently on the landing.

There were three doors to her left. One that rounded back on the stairs, which was her own bedroom; the bathroom immediately beside her; and another door leading to the spare bedroom a little further down a narrow corridor ahead. The door of this last room was ajar and low flickering lamplight was spilling from it.

In a flash that disturbed nothing, Minerva fell low to the ground and landed on her front paws. She kept to the shadows, crept silently along the corridor and poked her tiny head around the partially open door.

From her position near to the ground she could see the top half of a wizard on the other side of a large double bed that took up most of the space in the room. He was wearing a bottle green dressing gown and a nightcap to match with a real thistle sewn into it. Minerva knew of only one person who had a prickly cap like that. Her mew was drawn out and came from deep in her throat. "Mrrr-aaow."

The man jumped spectacularly and fumbled for the wand that lay on the bed. Minerva was laughing as she popped back into her human form.

The man looked at her with wide eyes, his breathing heavy.

"Oh, you rascal," he said. "You could have given an old man a heart attack."

"Now you know how it feels," she replied, smiling at her grandfather's rosy face. His hair had whitened since she had last seen him and he was looking pale, but he still had bulk enough not to look feeble. "How are you, Pops?" she asked.

"As well as can be expected after nearly dying of fright," he replied dramatically.

Minerva simply laughed and moved across the room to kiss her grandfather on the cheek.

"You made me use magic, you know, and officially it's Saturday," she said in mock reproach. "I'm sorry," she continued, "I forgot you were coming for dinner."

"Have you just arrived back from work, Poppet?" her grandfather asked, looking concerned as he observed the cloak Minerva was still wearing and noted her tired appearance. She nodded.

"Busy day," she said ambiguously. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know but it completely slipped my mind."

"Not to worry," he said kindly. "Your parents are sleeping in your living room and your brother conjured an extra bed and squeezed it into your room. I hope that's okay?"

"Of course," she responded; then a question sprung to mind. "Did you wait up for me, Pops? It's almost three o'clock."

"I wasn't sure where you were so I thought I should stay awake until I knew you were home safely." Minerva smiled at his thoughtfulness. "Well," he continued, "you look exhausted. We'll talk tomorrow," he promised and kissed the top of Minerva's head. "Good night, Poppet."

Minerva left the room a few seconds later and headed straight to bed, ignoring the half drunk glass of wine that still rested on her kitchen table.

-

"… and found that you've picked up your wand? Put it down again, folks. That's right. It's _that_ Saturday. The first Saturday in July – which means that National Muggle Day has come upon us for the seventh time in as many years. No wand usage apart from in the obvious situations – defending yourself from being maimed and so forth. And of course we cannot forget those particular and may I say _lovely_ important Ministry members who are _exempt_ from the rules of the day to carry out their duty to the wizarding world. Let's hope their wands are – oh, sorry; of course I mean _aren't_ shoved up their–!"

Minerva rolled over in her bed and knocked the wireless off her bedside table. She was entirely worn out from yesterday, having had barely had two hours sleep with so much on her mind. And now, when all she wanted to do was have an easy, relaxing weekend, magic was out of the question.

Of course National Muggle Day was not obligatory, but most witches and wizards tended to take part, even if they had expressed their dislike for the idea. It was only once a year after all and Minerva, along with many others, actually thought it was quite a good scheme. It had of course been Dumbledore's idea. Minerva remembered he had expressed his concern to her some years previous that wizards do not have enough understanding of the muggle world.

This morning was therefore a muggle morning, which meant that everything took three times as long. Minerva swung her feet over the side of her bed and noticed that the extra bed in her room had been dismantled – apparently the muggle way judging by the mess of sheets wrapped up amongst the metal frame. Her brother had evidently already risen… unless he was also tangled up in the folded bed…

Minerva's shower was not exactly uncomfortable but it took a long time to get the water to precisely the right temperature by twiddling the knobs with her hands instead of her wand, and the longer it took the more irritated Minerva became. She became cold between clambering from the shower and retrieving her towel. Then she had to towel dry herself with a towel that had not been bewitched to stay warm, which only deepened her aggravation.

When she was completely dry apart from her hair Minerva put on her dressing gown and went down the stairs to her kitchen for a much needed breakfast.

"Morning, Pops," she said unenergetically as she walked into the kitchen to find her Grandfather sitting at the table in red trousers, a bright blue muggle t-shirt and a tie draped over one shoulder. She stopped abruptly as she saw him. Her eyes narrowed at the huge spread of breakfast covering the table.

"Morning, Poppet," he replied. Then, "_What_?"

"How did you make this breakfast?" Minerva asked suspiciously.

"With my own two hands," he told her, affronted.

"And a wand?" she asked sharply.

"Dear me, Minerva, we are grumpy this morning," her grandfather said with a frown. "Cameron helped actually. I take it you two have not crossed paths this morn–"

"Morning, Minerva." Cameron had just breezed in through the kitchen door behind her with the irritating smile on his face of someone who had had a very restful night's sleep. He wore beige muggle trousers and a loose white shirt. By all appearances, he had just returned from a muggle shop in the village; he was holding one of those odd white plastic bags in his hand. He kissed her on the cheek over her shoulder and walked around her to the kitchen table.

"We've done well, haven't we?" he asked, putting the new items on the already crowded tabletop. He had bought milk, butter, _buck's fizz_ (Minerva raised an eyebrow as she saw that) and three different muggle papers in celebration of the day.

Minerva made no response to his question and moved to pour herself some pumpkin juice from a large pitcher that had been set in the middle of the table. She felt cross and snappy for the simple reasons that she was tired and she did not like buck's fizz. The day had certainly not started off satisfactorily.

"Minerva!"

Minerva's mother had just entered the small kitchen with a smile to rival her brother's. She wrapped Minerva in a hug and turned immediately to the breakfast table. "Oh, this looks delicious, Finley," she said to Minerva's Grandfather. Cameron cleared his throat loudly. "You've done a marvellous job too, Cameron," she added.

"Oh, Muggle Day, indeed! It'll have everyone in a frenzy." Minerva's father had just joined the throng in the kitchen. He looked as irritated as Minerva felt as he moved towards her and kissed her on her temple. "Morning, darling," he said distractedly.

Minerva turned to see what was causing his troubles. He had successfully managed to put one arm through a short sleeve of his white muggle shirt, but the other had not quite made it yet as his elbow was sticking through the sleeve. Minerva's mother moved towards him, laughing loudly at her husband's predicament.

Minerva moved around the struggling couple and sat at the table next to her grandfather who had begun helping himself to toast, rubbery looking scrambled egg and practically black bacon. Minerva followed his lead, but opted only for the toast which appeared to be the only item of food that had cooked nicely.

"How did you do all this?" Minerva asked. "I don't have a noven. A vonen. A… whatever it's called."

"A noven sounds right, I think," her grandfather replied contemplatively. "We did it over the fire. Cameron lit it with his wand. _Last night_," he added quickly, catching the look on Minerva's face. "We stirred up the embers this morning the _muggle _way."

Minerva was pleasantly surprised at their forethought and began to spread a large amount of butter on her toast.

"It was maddening dragging out all the crockery by hand," Cameron said, joining his sister and grandfather's conversation. "Do you know how heavy a pile of plates actually are?"

"Well, it's good to see you've grown into a nice and strong man, Cameron," Minerva declared sarcastically.

"Well if you'd stop squirming, Micheil, this will be done a lot quicker."

Minerva looked up and saw her mother pulling ferociously at her father's hand which had become tangled in the muggle shirt.

"Ah, there we go," her mother finally said, looking happy. "I don't know what you were making such a fuss for."

Minerva smiled despite her disagreeable mood. Her family seated themselves around the rather overcrowded kitchen table and began to ask Minerva about work – the last topic of conversation she wished for at eight o'clock in the morning after only a few hours sleep because of said work.

"It's busy," she told them, as vaguely as she had last night to her grandfather, and then promptly offered to make the tea.

The muggle way of making tea was not too complicated. It only took longer because you had to wait for the water to boil over the fire. Using the milk that Cameron had bought from the muggle village, Minerva set about pouring everyone a cup of tea.

"So, Minerva," her mother said. "What time's the train to Oxford?"

TBC


	4. The Journey to Oxford

**A/N: **Thank you for the reviews! I'm glad you like the idea of National Muggle Day - the story would be rather fruitless if you didn't ;) All reviews are welcome.

_**The Journey to Oxford**_

In the short space between receiving the invitation from Dumbledore and her family coming to stay, Minerva had managed to acquire five muggle return train tickets from London to Oxford from a friend in the Improper Use of Magic Office who knew all about muggle transportation and was one of the very few wizards who was actually looking forward to National Muggle Day.

After breakfast on Saturday morning, Minerva changed into her new muggle outfit. She pulled up her hair, pulled the light brown top over the cream linen trousers and looked at her reflection in her full-length mirror. The new clothes suited her quite nicely, she thought, and they weren't too hot for a summer's day on what was likely to be a tightly packed muggle train.

The McGonagall's set out from Minerva's cottage after breakfast, dressed, they thought, looking very much like five muggles. Minerva's grandfather had tied his tie in a knot around his neck and it now hung loosely over his t-shirt.

The first obstacle of the day came when they reached the muggle bus station to catch a bus into the centre of London.

"It's not my fault your coins are so damn small," Minerva's father was saying to an irate bus driver after several minutes of attempting to find the loose muggle change in his pockets.

"Micheil," her mother warned.

"Well look, look at that, Mysie," he said holding up a tiny, round bronze coin to his wife. "Smaller than my fingernail, that is!"

"'Ow many will you be payin' for?" the driver said touchily. He was not a minter. It was not his fault the coins were so small.

"Five," Mysie said before Micheil could speak. The bus driver told her the total amount.

"Well, how much is that, eh?" Micheil said. "Could be extortionate for all we know."

"I am on a schedule, sir," the driver said. "Either step off the bus or pay for the tickets."

"I don't like your tone, young man," Minerva heard her grandfather say. She sighed angrily. They would get nowhere by arguing with the bus driver.

"My apologies, sir," the driver replied, though he didn't sound at all sorry. "But there are other people usin' this service who are waitin' to reach their destinations."

Minerva glanced down the bus. There were four people sitting in separate seats and they were all staring at her family.

"Here's your damn money then," her father said, handing the driver a note with the muggle Queen's head completely motionless on the front. "And I expect the correct change."

A moment later they all walked irritably down the narrow aisle to the uncomfortable seats that were rather limited in size.

"Bloody Scots," Minerva heard the driver mutter. She spun around.

"I beg your pardon?" she said icily to the driver. He was so taken aback by her sharpness that he did not respond immediately.

"I said nuffin, Madam."

"You will do well to remember that we have paid for this service," Minerva said coldly. "Kindly brush up on your customer service skills."

The ride into London was slow and Minerva's bad temper was growing with every bump that shook her in her seat. She could feel the weather becoming gradually hotter as the nauseating journey progressed. She felt a little glad of it though, as all of the events of the morning were keeping her mind off what was to come when they arrived in Oxford.

When they reached London, five very disgruntled Scots stepped off the bus and onto a busy muggle street which was thankfully just outside the station they required. They were rather early, but had no wish to walk about in a muggle train station, and so after asking many question which gradually progressed from politeness to impatience at the ridiculousness of muggle transportation and timetables, they climbed aboard the train that was set for Oxford and found their seats with twenty minutes to spare.

They had a table between four of the seats and a spare seat across the aisle. Cameron sat in that one. Minerva was manoeuvred into a window seat by her grandfather, who then sat next to her. Her parents sat opposite.

"Well, what a lot of unnecessary nonsense," said her father, who was looking slightly pink in the face and whose eyebrows were creased in a deep frown.

"But think who you're doing this _for_, laddie," said Finley to his son. "Dumbledore's a fine chap and if his requests are sometimes a little peculiar, well, who are we to scoff? He's a hearty fellow and I for one will do anything for the man."

Minerva saw her father's frown gradually relax as he took in what his father had said. Her own exasperation over the morning's events was also softened somewhat by her grandfather's words. The thought of going through all of these muggle activities for Dumbledore seemed to change Minerva's perspective. If it was for anyone else she would probably have been fuming, but Dumbledore's kind face floated before her mind's eye and she relaxed tiredly into her seat.

As the journey began, the conversation turned to last year's National Muggle Day when Cameron, who had always seemed to enjoy muggle ways, had brought a muggle girl whom he had known for a short while back to the house for the first time. Everything had been going very well until she discovered the potion that Finley had been working on to improve wizard hygiene and she had thought she had found a stash of illegal muggle drugs.

Minerva turned from the conversation smiling as her father began to talk about the muggle law officers who came round a few hours later, and she looked out of the window. Now that she had relaxed a little from the commotion of the morning, her weariness began to creep further upon her. She leant her head against the pane of glass and looked out at the town behind the graffitied walls which then rushed away and changed to green fields and shimmering lakes.

As hard as she fought it, her mind turned to Dumbledore. When his face swam before her this time her nerves ignited under her skin and her stomach squirmed uncomfortably. Why should he produce such discomfort in her after so many years? It wasn't as though she didn't want to see him, but the tension under her skin seemed to suggest otherwise.

They had become very close after Minerva had left school, but their contact had ended so abruptly at Dumbledore's leaving her cottage that she had firmly pushed any thought of him to the back of her mind and continued with her life just as she would have done if she had never known him.

And now, suddenly, these thoughts had been wrenched from her mind and she was forced to think about it; forced to wonder why they had both completely cut themselves off from each other; forced to consider the reason behind his desire to have her back in his life; forced to face the sensations that had been revived within her by Dumbledore's sudden contact.

But she didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to hope. She couldn't.

"Miss McGonagall?"

Minerva turned her head away from the blurred countryside and faced the wizard who had growled her name.

"Alastor," she remarked surprised, feeling rather foolish that she had not caught his last name those few nights ago. Alastor was standing in the aisle and was swaying with the movement of the train.

He was dressed in what could only be described as dishevelled clothing. His lime green t-shirt was hanging scruffily over frayed blue shorts that had once been trousers but the legs had been cut off just above the knee. Minerva cocked an eyebrow at him as she looked from his toeless shoes to his slanted top hat.

Alastor grinned back. "I take it you're all off to Dumbledore's shindig, eh?" he asked, looking around at the five neatly dressed people.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Alastor these are my parents, Micheil and Mysie; my brother, Cameron, and my grandfather, Finley. Everyone this is Alastor. He works at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she said quietly, careful not to mention the specific unit he was a member of.

"How do you do," Alastor said. Minerva's family smiled and nodded their greeting.

"We are all going to Dumbledore's, yes," Minerva said, answering his earlier question. "Are there many of us on the train?" Alastor obviously knew that by 'us' Minerva meant magical people.

"We're taking up most of the booked seats as far as I can tell," he told her. "I've had to stop about ten times on my way down the train," (Minerva presumed he was looking for the bathrooms), "and I'm only in the next carriage," he added, jerking his thumb behind him.

"Really? That many?" Minerva said surprised. "I wonder how many people Dumbledore's invited."

"Too many to count is my guess," Alastor said, with a grin.

After farewells to Minerva and the rest of her family, Alastor continued down the train. He had given Minerva something else to think about. She had not considered before exactly how many people Dumbledore had invited. The invitation to her may not have been one out of a desire to reacquaint himself with her, but simply an act of courtesy given that he seemed to have invited a large number.

But then, she thought, he had written her a letter saying expressly that he hoped she will be able to attend. She turned to her family who were talking animatedly about the Scottish National Quidditch match against Germany a few months ago and mentally shook herself, forcing her exasperatingly circular thoughts to the back of her mind.

-

The train finally pulled into Oxford after what felt like an age. Minerva could have come and gone hundreds of times by now if magic was allowed. At least the muggles didn't know what they were missing, she thought.

Scores of people left the train at this station and Minerva could tell that the majority of them were wizards if only by looking at their clothes. It was obvious that people had attempted to make an effort, though - through their clothing and their means of travel. The noise in the station was raucous as the excitement of the party rose in anticipation.

People greeted each other as they stepped off the train and caught sight of their friends and acquaintances. Suddenly, there was a burst of laughter nearby. A group of people were falling about in hysterics at the attire of one of their friends. Minerva shook her head and smiled. Why would one even want to wear a tight leather cat suit? Boiling weather and mandatory muggle clothing aside. She vaguely wondered which shop the wizard had ventured into…

It was immediately apparent when the McGonagall's exited the station that Dumbledore had arranged some kind of muggle transport for the many witches and wizards whom he had expected would be travelling by train.

"Never misses a trick, that fellow, does he?" Minerva vaguely heard her grandfather say.

They had just walked through the door leading out of the station and had come face to face with a dozen or so miniature versions of the large muggle bus they had travelled on to get into London.

It was clear that the muggle drivers thought it odd for so many of these vehicles to be called out to the station and then to travel to the same destination, because the drivers were looking at each other either with a bewildered expression or with a large disbelieving smile, as if this was all a joke.

The witches and wizards on the other hand looked rather relieved that they did not have to find some other means of muggle transport to get to Dumbledore's party. A large cheer and friendly laughter sounded as the first of the muggle drivers held up a sign that said:

Destination: MUGGLE MANOR

The other drivers followed his lead. Minerva smiled at Dumbledore's very blatant joke and she felt her grandfather give a loud hoot of laughter behind her.

The five McGonagall's all piled themselves into the fourth of the small buses which were as cramped as they looked from the outside and waited as it began to fill. Alastor was the last wizard to clamber inside and she could hear him grumbling about the lack of breathing space. He sat on the only available seat, (an aisle seat in front of Minerva) and the bus's engine roared to life and set off down a long straight road.

"This is even worse than the bigger ones," Alastor said as he popped his head around the back of his seat to speak to Minerva. She had to agree; this bus felt as though they were travelling along a road of never-ending potholes.

The ride was rather merry however, as all pretence of muggle behaviour evaporated and the journey was full of amusing stories of how people had arrived at the London station. One couple whom Minerva did not know but who introduced themselves as Percival and Poppy Pomphrey, said that they had had to travel on horses for some of the way because they lived in an area that was inaccessible by any vehicle. They usually had to apparate from their house before going anywhere.

"It was a death mission I can tell you," Poppy Pomphrey said. "Going down that practically vertical mountain was like jumping willingly off a cliff and seeing if you survive. Thank Merlin we only live halfway up!"

Minerva spent a happy half hour talking with Poppy and Percival (who, it turned out, were brother and sister), and Alastor who introduced himself to the Pomphrey's as Alastor Moody as soon as he heard that Percival had been an Auror in France during the war. Minerva was thankful to have finally found out his surname and to be saved from a potentially embarrassing situation.

With such company to be had, the discomfort of the journey was soon forgotten, but Minerva's tiredness was present all the way, though she tried to ignore it. The bus came to a halt sooner than she would have expected and her nerves leapt to life again. The distance between the small buses had stretched somewhat along the way and the first three had already departed by the time Minerva's arrived in front of an enormous wrought iron gateway.

As each person struggled out of the miniature bus, the driver sat in his seat with a blank look on his face. Apparently the anti-muggle spells had not been lifted. Minerva supposed that there must be a limit to a day with no magic.

As she stepped out of the bus, a glorious sight met her eyes which had glanced past the huge gates and towards the building beyond. The Dumbledore's 'holiday home' was apparently an enormous stone manor, very happily situated amongst magnificent grounds that spread far beyond where the eye could see.

As the bus drove away, a wizard whom Minerva did not know walked up to the gates and nudged them open. The rest of the party followed and began to make their way up the lengthy path towards the house.

There was a babble that surrounded Minerva as they walked but she did not participate, or rather could not. Her mind was once again focused on the wizard she was about to meet after five long years. She fleetingly wondered if his appearance had changed at all, but then her nerves forced her thoughts back to what she could possibly say to him after such a long silence.

The enormous oak front doors were looming closer and she felt a shiver run the entire length of her body, despite the heat of the day. The group made their way up the front steps in different degrees of excitement. Minerva stood near the back of the group close to Alastor and Cameron, and as they reached the wide platform at the top of the stone steps, one of the large doors opened and Dumbledore's voice was unmistakable.

"How delightful that you all managed to arrive in one piece."

TBC


	5. Muggle Manor

**A/N: **Thanks to those of you who are letting me know what you think. You guys are great! I hope everyone else is enjoying it. Happy reading...

_**Muggle Manor**_

The group steadily dispersed into the vast hallway as the witches and wizards entered through the front doors. Minerva nerves had most definitely got the better of her, which she had to admit happens rather infrequently. There was a constant prickling under the skin of her hands, and her throat and stomach felt as though she had just eaten something very heavy. She took in a deep, silent breath through her nose and moved forward in order to stand between Cameron and Alastor.

It seemed as though Dumbledore was greeting his guests individually (his brother was nowhere to be seen) and this only heightened Minerva's sense of apprehension.

Finally he came into view and Minerva's edginess was the only thing preventing her approving smile. He was dressed in dazzling white shorts that reached his knees, held up with a vivid purple belt; and a white t-shirt which clung attractively to his torso. However, a pair of ridiculous, yellow shoes covered his feet, embellished with large purple butterflies. Only Albus Dumbledore could get away with wearing such shoes. At least they matched his belt, Minerva thought.

Her brother had reached him and was shaking his hand. Minerva just caught their words over the nervous hammering of her pulse.

"Marvellous to see you again, Cameron," Dumbledore was saying. Minerva noticed that his eyes did not roam further down the line. She hoped the tremble in her fingers wasn't visible when he turned to her. "I'll catch up with you later. I have something I wish to discuss with you," he added mysteriously.

"Good to see you too, sir," Cameron said. He let go of Dumbledore's hand and moved further into the hall, but then turned to wait for Minerva who had stepped forward.

It seemed that Dumbledore and Minerva moved their eyes from Cameron to each other at precisely the same moment. Minerva found herself suddenly without speech as she stood in front of Dumbledore. His eyes fixed solely on her and for a moment he looked stunned to see her, but he recovered quickly and held out his hand to greet her. Minerva took it with a small smile, not trusting herself to articulate her greeting.

"You are looking radiant, Minerva," he said, moving his free hand to cover the back of her already outstretched one. Minerva took in a breath to speak, but Dumbledore had already looked to her left.

"Alastor," he said happily, releasing Minerva's hand from between his two larger ones and turning to the wizard next to her.

"Good morning, Dumbledore," Minerva heard Alastor say as she walked towards her brother, rather stunned at the way Dumbledore had suddenly turned to greet Alastor before allowing Minerva a response. But what had she expected? Dumbledore had spoken kindly to her. More than kindly – he had flattered her generously. Could she expect any more than that?

"I'm going to freshen up, Cameron," she said as they walked together towards their parents. Her back felt uncomfortably moist after the hot journey and she longed for the feel of cold water on her hot skin.

"All right," replied Cameron. "I hope you manage to find a bathroom in this maze."

He smiled at her as he left to join his parents who were at that moment being directed into a room to the right of the enormous hall by a man in a tuxedo who was holding a large silver tray of glasses full of bubbling champagne.

Minerva looked around. There were three such men that she could see amongst the swelling crowd (apparently the fifth bus had just arrived), and Minerva made her way towards the one to her left standing furthest away from the constant stream of witches and wizards. He was quite young, late teens perhaps, with fluffy blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes.

"Excuse me," she said. The boy turned to her and lowered his own tray of drinks. "Oh, no thank you," she said, raising a hand to stop him offering her a drink. "I was wondering if you could point me the way to the ladies."

The boy smiled kindly at her, and Minerva noticed that his cheeks pinked slightly.

"Certainly, Ma'am," he said in a fantastically refined accent that would have sounded snooty if he didn't look so amiable. "Up the main stairs, down the left corridor and it's the third door on the right."

"Thank you," Minerva said, and turned to see an even larger crowd had flooded the hall.

-

Minerva returned from the bathroom feeling much more comfortable and refreshed, though still rather weary. She had straightened her clothes and her hair had to be taken down and tied up again because several of the loose strands had become unkempt in the commotion of muggle travelling.

Minerva descended the stairs and made her way toward the room where she had seen her family enter. Dumbledore was still greeting guests by the entrance doors and it looked as though his brother had joined him, but Minerva was not sure.

She walked into the room to her left and felt as though she'd stepped into a ballroom. There were three enormous unlit candelabras hanging down the length of the high ceiling, and five gigantic tables stood before her; two along the wall to her left, two to her right and one straight ahead at the end of the room, all piled with empty glasses and goblets which were upside-down, ready to be snatched up by the busy waiters and filled for the guests.

These rows of glittering glasses were broken apart now and then by large dark squares of dozens of unopened bottles of drink. This must have been arranged before today, Minerva thought, wondering how anyone could have managed all this without the use of magic.

She spotted her parents and brother almost immediately. They were talking merrily with some old family friends whom Minerva had not seen for several years, who always stood out in a crowd because of their flaming red hair.

"Ah, Minerva," her father said as she came to join them. "You remember Septimus and Cedrella Weasley."

"Of course," Minerva said smiling. She shook Septimus's hand and kissed Cedrella on the cheek. "How are you both?"

"Very well, thank you, Minerva," Septimus said, beaming at her, his eyes shining brightly. Minerva looked from the Weasleys to her father (who was also grinning widely) and back again.

"There's something you're not telling me," Minerva said with a smile as the grins grew on every face in their circle.

"We're having a baby," Cedrella said, her ears pinking as she spoke.

"Oh, that's wonderful! Congratulations," Minerva said happily. "When did you find out?" she asked, for Cedrella's stomach was still flat under her tight muggle clothes.

"About a month ago," Cedrella replied, her smile as wide as her husbands. "We're over the moon, of course. Dumbledore's asked me to name it Wulfric if it's a boy. I hope he was joking."

Minerva laughed along with the rest of her family and Septimus.

"I'm sure he was," Minerva's mother responded. "I don't suppose you've thought of a name yet, have you?"

"Well we have tossed a few around, Mysie" replied Septimus. "Arthur if it's a boy, we think. But girl's names are a lot harder to decide on. Although Dumbledore had a few suggestions for that too…"

Minerva felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to her brother beside her.

"That reminds me, Minerva," he said. "Dumbledore came over earlier when there was a lull at the doors and asked after you."

Minerva's stomach stirred instantly. She swallowed awkwardly.

"What did he say?" she asked, attempting to sound impassive at this unexpected news.

"Nothing really," he replied nonchalantly. "He'll probably find you later."

Cameron turned back to the conversation which was still on the subject of baby names, but Minerva moved away. She found it insufferable that that single statement could fluster her so greatly _and_ fill her with relief at the same time.

The crowd had grown considerably since Minerva had arrived. There must already be at least two hundred guests, and yet still room for more. The number of the Dumbledores' acquaintances amazed her – they had invited each one themselves after all.

The young waiter she had met earlier crossed her path, and with the same kind smile offered her a drink. This time she accepted and took one of the champagne flutes from the shimmering silver tray. Perhaps it would stem the progress of her fatigue.

"Minerva!"

Minerva turned to her grandfather who had called out to her from beside one of the long tables to one side of the room. She moved between the few witches and wizards separating them and arrived at his side seconds later.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Pops?" she asked.

"More than you, it would seem," he replied. Minerva looked at him indignantly. It wasn't as though she wanted to go home. "It wouldn't hurt to show a little smile now and then, Poppet," he said in response to her expression. She smiled at that. "That's better," he said cheerily.

"I am having a good time. It hasn't really begun yet though, has it? I mean the guests are still arriving."

"Not anymore by the looks of it."

Minerva turned to where her grandfather was looking and saw that Dumbledore had just entered the room. Several people seemed to have spotted him too, because the chatter in the room seemed to drop slightly for several seconds before escalating once again.

Minerva turned back to her grandfather, attempting to ignore the flare that had erupted inside her. Her grandfather was smiling at her.

"He's a handsome man, Minerva," he said.

She was taken aback by the use of her forename from his lips. He had only used it once before in such a casual conversation as this, and that was to tell her that he was supporting her animagus training whether her father did or not. Micheil had greatly disapproved at first, but nothing he said had dissuaded Minerva. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and said, "Did you hear about the Weasleys, Pops?"

Finley smiled at her again, but moved the conversation on from Dumbledore. They stood talking for several minutes and were joined soon after by Poppy and Percival, and later by Cameron. The five of them were laughing about a little scene the Pomphrey's had witnessed – a wizard had been standing quite close by to them, speaking in outrage to a waiter because they were not serving firewhiskey but ordinary muggle whiskey.

"And the waiter said, rather dryly I might add, 'Perhaps it has something to do with the term _Muggle Day_, sir. You may wish to take this discussion up with Professor Dumbledore as he was the one responsible for the ordering of the drinks'," Poppy laughed. "I thought the man was going to wet himself he was so shocked. And best of all," she continued through her laughter, "the bloke is wearing _women's_ trousers and a _leotard_."

The circle erupted with laughter.

"I am pleased to see such merriment among my guests."

Minerva's laughter caught in her throat. Dumbledore was standing right behind her. She should have stood facing the door.

"Oh, you'll appreciate this, Dumbledore," Poppy said, then proceeded to relate the entire story for a second time.

Minerva had turned and opened the circle up for Dumbledore, and he now stood at her side. He was laughing heartily when Minerva felt someone tap her shoulder. She turned to find Alastor smiling at her with two glasses of white wine in his hands. Minerva did not care very much for white wine, but took the glass he offered nonetheless.

"I'd like to speak to you," Alastor said. Minerva thought she knew what this was about. He led her away from the crowd towards a corner of the large room.

"You look tired, Minerva," Alastor said considerately. "I take it you were involved in all that malarkey in Japan yesterday?"

Minerva nodded. "I haven't had much sleep, that's all," she replied, perhaps rather too curtly, so she continued. "But I'm one of the lucky ones. Some people are still out there."

"I knew the Brit who was arrested – Atticus. Slimy bugger if ever there was one. It's his father who's preventing the trial. Some top dog in the Ministry so I gather. What a great pillock."

Minerva nodded. She'd seen Amulius Fenwick, Atticus' father, only once before. His son must be 'slimy' if Amulius was anything to go by. He had a lewd air about him, his light brown hair had been shaved almost to he tips and his grey eyes had stared out covetously from his round face. Alastor seemed to become even more disconcerted by the whole series of events as Minerva relayed what she knew about the case to him.

"So that makes what I came to ask you a lot more worth your while, I think," Alastor said when she had finished. "I spoke to my boss at the Auror Headquarters," he continued in an undertone, "and he seems to think that a cat animagus will be a valuable asset to our team. You're not anything too big so as likely to attract attention, and you aren't wild so you can be close to houses and humans, but can also go into the wilderness and not look out of place there." Alastor placed his hand on Minerva's forearm. "Will you think about it, Minerva?"

Minerva stiffened a little, slightly uncomfortable with his familiarity towards her. Then she saw Alastor's eyes flick past her as he glanced over her shoulder, and she suddenly became aware of a presence behind her.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon." Alastor's hand weighed heavy on her arm. It was Dumbledore.

TBC


	6. An Unwelcome Surprise

**A/N:** Finally a little bit more of good ol' Albus...

_**An Unwelcome Surprise**_

Minerva turned quickly causing Alastor to drop his hand from her arm, and saw that Dumbledore was about to walk away.

"No, Albus," she said hurriedly, surprised at how natural it still felt to call him by his first name. "You're not interrupting anything," she continued significantly. Turning back to Alastor she smiled and said, "I promise I will think about it."

"Good, good," said Alastor happily, evidently oblivious to his innocent touch being so meaningful to the witch and wizard before him. "How about that, Dumbledore?" he said as he put a hand on the older wizard's back and brought him closer to them.

"What's that?" Dumbledore asked with a smile, clearly not having heard any of the discussion between Alastor and Minerva.

"Minerva's an official animagus," Alastor said proudly.

"I am aware of that, Alastor," Dumbledore replied.

Minerva looked up at him, surprised. She hadn't mentioned the completion of her animagus training to many people. Dumbledore certainly had a propensity to come across a great deal of information; and yet she had never known him to gossip, or to take note of rumours, as far as she knew.

"I'm endeavouring to recruit her onto our side," Alastor added, referring to his department at the Ministry. "We can't have animagi running around in the International Magical Office of Law. What use are they there?"

Minerva stood suddenly dismayed at the way Alastor was talking about her, but Dumbledore didn't seem to have noticed. She was about to retort, but Dumbledore spoke first.

"Now, now, Alastor," he said with a twinkle in his eye as he gave Minerva a fleeting look. "If you talk about sides such as you are then you might create a rift within the Ministry, no matter how innocent your comments might sound now."

"Ah, don't be absurd, Dumbledore," Alastor said with a barking laugh. But Dumbledore had turned to Minerva.

"Congratulations, Minerva," he said with a warm smile.

"Thank you," she replied, unable to ignore the fact that her tiredness had made her voice sound fragile and weak.

"I am only sorry to have missed the last few years of your training," Dumbledore added.

Minerva voice could not be summoned to respond to that as Dumbledore paused and looked regretfully at her. She was saved an awkward silence, however, when he continued.

"Those years are the most exciting, are they not?"

Minerva smiled faintly and found her voice. "They can be, yes," she replied.

"I don't suppose anyone can imagine what it must feel like unless they are actually an animagus, eh?" Alastor chimed in.

"It is rather indescribable, I'm afraid," Minerva replied, almost glad for an excuse to turn from Dumbledore's startling eyes.

Someone loudly cleared their throat behind Dumbledore. The three of them turned to see a pretty witch who looked to be quite a few years older than Minerva standing a little way off from their circle. She wore a violent purple suit and had shiny blonde hair which flowed several inches passed her shoulders. Minerva thought she heard Dumbledore give a quiet but impatient sigh.

"Miss Harper," Dumbledore said, inclining his head. Miss Harper hurried over to where Dumbledore, Minerva and Alastor were standing with an enormous smile on her face. Minerva felt an aversion to the woman immediately.

"Miss Harper," Dumbledore said again. "Allow me to introduce Mr. Alastor Moody and Miss Minerva McGonagall. Alastor, Minerva, this is Dusty Harper. She –"

"Oh, Albus you simply must come and save us from a wretched conversation," Dusty Harper cut in, with barely a glance at the two people she had just been introduced to. "Percival Pomphrey is boring us all to tears with ghastly stories about France."

Alastor and Minerva stiffened simultaneously. They had both very much enjoyed Percival's company on the journey to the house, and found it very difficult to imagine his stories about France being 'boring'. He had been an Auror after all, which must quite frequently have gone hand in hand with fascinating adventures. Alastor, Minerva knew, had taken quite a shine to him.

"I just can't bear to see my poor friends suffer any longer. You must rescue us, Albus," Dusty Harper continued in her girlish voice, taking hold of Dumbledore's wrist and practically pulling him away from Minerva and Alastor. Minerva's dislike of the woman was increasing with every word that came out of her silly mouth.

"Percival Pomphrey, you say?"

Dusty Harper was so taken aback by the growl of Alastor's voice that she stopped attempting to drag Dumbledore away and stared at Alastor without saying a word.

"Hmm," he pondered, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the witch before him. "Old Percy owes me a long, boring story. I think I'll come and join you."

This was apparently Alastor's way of defending the people he liked. He held out his arm to the woman before them and she had no choice but to release Dumbledore from her tight grip and accept Alastor's offer; though Minerva noticed that she looked severely disappointed not to have secured the wizard whom she had been seeking. For of course her intention had been to have Dumbledore to herself and this nonsense about Percival Pomphrey was merely a ruse in order to obtain Dumbledore's attentions. Minerva was shocked that anybody could be so transparent.

As Alastor led Dusty Harper away, Dumbledore turned back to Minerva who was following Alastor and Dusty with her eyes.

This was it, she thought; the first time they had been in each other's company alone since Dumbledore had left her cottage five years ago. A wave of nerves surged over her stomach and she could not bring herself to look back at him. Her frustration with herself was colossal. She had never acted like this before.

"Have you known him long?" Minerva heard Dumbledore say.

Her brow furrowed, but she remained looking into the crowd.

"Who?" she asked quizzically.

"Alastor Moody," he replied.

Minerva couldn't help it. Her eyes moved to Dumbledore. She sincerely hoped he wasn't implying anything in his question.

"If a few days is long, then yes," she replied, her lip twitching upward.

"He's a fine young man; if a bit on the blunt side," Dumbledore said calmly. "I am sorry I cut you off earlier from what I expect would have been a justified response. Only I knew that Alastor meant nothing by it."

Minerva's concern eased. He had not been implying anything, merely thinking back to the earlier part of the conversation when Alastor had made the rather impertinent comments about Minerva 'running around' the Ministry in her animagus form.

"Oh," she said, touched by his consideration, "then I am to thank you. I'm sure my response would have been harsher than was necessary."

Dumbledore didn't respond. Minerva looked down at her full glass of white wine. There was an embarrassed silence in which Minerva could think of a number of things to say, but was not able to voice any of them because of their rather private content.

"Minerva."

She looked up. Dumbledore was looking at her with intensity.

"Dumbledore!" bellowed a loud voice close at hand.

Dumbledore sighed through his long nose and closed his eyes. A quiet puff of breath escaped from Minerva. He quickly restrained and concealed whatever he had been about to say. Instinctively, Minerva reached out and touched her fingers to his hand that was holding his glass.

Dumbledore opened his eyes at her caress and she was suddenly transfixed by his stare. Her throat felt dry as she swallowed and said boldly, "We can talk later."

She made herself walk away before Dumbledore could be hauled off by a witch and wizard whom she thought she recognised from the Ministry. She had no intention of making him feel guilty that he was leaving her to stand alone. She passed Alastor and Percival along the way, and saw that Alastor had a very firm grip on the arm of Dusty Harper, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else but there.

"Oh dear, Minerva, you do look tired."

Mysie had come towards her. Minerva sighed irritably, but said nothing. People's comments about how tired she looked were becoming increasingly unwelcome.

"Here, darling, have some wine," said her mother, holding out a glass of red wine for her.

Minerva shook her head. "I think the wine is making me more drowsy. Is there any juice?"

"Well there are a lot of children around. I'm sure if you ask the waiters they will be able to get some for you. Why don't you have a rest somewhere?" she added.

"I can't do that," Minerva said, appalled by the idea.

"Well you're Dumbledore's friend aren't you? I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you disappeared for a while."

"I haven't seen Albus for years, mother," she said snappishly back. "And I'm doing nothing of the sort."

Mysie looked hopelessly at her daughter, but said nothing more on the subject.

A ringing of glass resonated around the room, and the noise of chatter and laughter died down almost immediately. People's heads moved to the doors of the room to see the young, blonde waiter Minerva had seen several times now. He was holding up a glass and a spoon and standing on something she could not quite see, making him a head and shoulders above the crowd. He cleared his throat.

"Luncheon is served," he said loudly in his wonderfully posh accent, smiling excitedly at them all. "If you would care to move into the room across the foyer at your leisure you will find a delicious array of muggle food and drink. You will also find an open door leading out into the grounds and may use it such as you wish."

Minerva hadn't thought about food until then, but suddenly found herself dreadfully hungry. The noise in the room rose as the waiter stepped down from whatever he was standing on and the people nearest the doors could be seen leaving the room to go to lunch. Minerva could see her grandfather struggling to move away from the doors and in the opposite direction of everyone else, further into the room. He came towards them looking rather harassed and red faced.

"You'd think these people hadn't been fed for days," he said as he reached the spot where Minerva and her mother stood, with an empty glass in his hand.

"Perhaps you should have something to eat too, Finley," Mysie said to her father-in-law. "How much have you had to drink?"

"No more than I can handle, Mysie," he replied.

"Well I'm famished," Minerva said. "Let's go and get some food."

She was also quite desirous to see what the gardens that were attached to this gigantic house were like. Mysie, Finley and Minerva joined the throng heading for the room across the hall.

As they finally stepped out of the room and into the hallway, Minerva heard whispers of a conversation that made her breath catch in her throat.

"That one there."

"Where?"

"_There!_"

Out of the corner of her eye Minerva saw a witch point blatantly at her.

"With the glasses?"

"That's right."

The witch to whom Minerva was being 'shown' sneered. "God, I hope Dumbledore knows what he's doing. She looks like she's barely out of school. Are you sure it's her?"

"Yes. That's what Prunella Harper said anyway."

"What – Dusty's mother?"

"Yes. And she should know. She's spent the last few years practically living with Dumbledore."

The babble around Minerva seemed immediately to become distorted and muffled, as though water had suddenly rushed to her ears. Something weighed heavily and uncomfortably in her stomach. She had to remind herself to keep walking with the crowd because her feet didn't seem to want to move.

Then the noise around her suddenly raced back to her senses and the strange feeling was gone, only to be replaced by a wave of anger. How dare these women talk about her with such blatant rudeness! She had a mind to say something to them. And what was Dumbledore doing talking about her to this Prunella Harper? And what did they mean 'practically living with'?

But then she caught the eye of her grandfather as he turned from the two witches to give Minerva a look of astonishment which quickly changed to one of warning as he glimpsed the anger that flashed in her eyes. He had heard the words too. She was noticeably breathless and her grandfather was watching her carefully.

"Minerva–" he began. She heard his cautioning tone.

"Excuse me," she said sharply to him and her mother, and hastened away into the crowd.

TBC


	7. The Speech

**_The Speech _**

Minerva had lost her appetite. She had moved with the crowd in the hallway through to the room opposite where food was displayed in enormous dishes and on platters, on tables almost as long as the room itself. She did not join any of the queues to eat. Instead, she had skirted the room and walked towards the open doors that led into the grounds which the waiter had pointed out in his announcement.

There was no one out here yet; they were all busy piling their plates with cold slices of meat and quiches, pasta and rice dishes, cold spiced chicken and nut roast and salad. Minerva was grateful for the quiet.

The grounds were enormous and boasted a lush green colour that would have been unusual for such a hot, dry summer were it not a wizard's garden. Minerva walked furiously out through the doors and onto a large patio.

Her skin was alive with livid pricking, her eyes half blinded to her surroundings as her anger soared through her. Who were these women? What right had they to say such things? And who on earth is Prunella Harper? Minerva stood on the patio for several minutes, her fists clenched tightly so that her fingernails dug groves into her palms. It was all she could do to suppress the urge to give a mind-blowing roar to release her fury.

People were beginning to make their way out of the dining hall and into the grounds. Not feeling at all inclined to make polite conversation Minerva went down the seven steps that led into the grounds and away from the house. It was only then that she began to notice her surroundings. There was a large wing to her right that extended out of the house quite a way into the garden, the stone wall of which was coated in rich green ivy that had crawled up the sides.

Minerva eyes travelled over the rest of the garden. There was a little too much colour in the flower beds for her tastes but they gave off a pleasant floral smell and the whole place buzzed and rustled with insects and hidden creatures in the undergrowth. She was too furious to notice much more, however. The women's conversation was still ringing in her ears.

She kept to a path that directed her further down the garden towards a small orchard near the bottom. It felt strange to be wandering around the Dumbledore's grounds when she hadn't even met Aberforth Dumbledore yet.

Pleased to escape from the scorching summer sun and the threat of people coming to talk to her, Minerva stepped off the path and into the shadows of the fruit trees. She found a small bench only just big enough for two people, sat down on it and leant against the trunk of a tree that had grown behind it.

She tipped her head back to rest against the rough bark and closed her eyes, breathing quickly through her nose. She had to calm down. Her anger was stabbing under the surface of her skin. Those women had irritated Minerva beyond reason. But how? Their rudeness was something she had experienced before. Perhaps it was her tiredness that was making her irritable. Then a single sentence slithered into her mind.

_She's spent the last few years practically living with Dumbledore… _

"Are you asleep?" Poppy Pomphrey's voice drifted over to Minerva in a whisper from the nearby path.

"No," Minerva replied. She opened her eyes and saw that Poppy was holding two plates full of food. She smiled at Minerva who smiled back.

"Your grandfather asked me to bring you this. Are you feeling all right?" she asked briskly, walking forward to the bench. "You're looking peaky."

"I'm fine," Minerva said firmly, more to persuade herself than Poppy. She sat up from the trunk and Poppy handed her the plate of food. Apparently her grandfather thought she needed feeding for the week – the plate was piled high with no room left for a single pea.

"I am a matron, Minerva," Poppy said confidently. "If you're feeling off colour…"

"Poppy, I'm fine, really," Minerva said. "It's just lack of sleep, that's all."

"Hmm," Poppy said, clearly entirely unconvinced.

The two witches sat in silence for a several minutes. Minerva's appetite had returned since the plate of wonderful smelling food had been thrust in front of her and since she had company to take her mind off other, less welcome, matters.

"Dumbledore's doing some sort of speech after we've eaten."

Well… almost take her mind off. Minerva felt her body tense at his name and hoped it wasn't noticeable. Who was this Prunella Harper anyway?

"Is he?" she replied vaguely, not at all expecting an answer. Poppy didn't give one.

"Are you sure you're all right?" the matron asked. Minerva eyes flashed at Poppy, who took it in her stride. "All right, all right," she said; and after a short pause added, "I wonder what he's got in store. You never can tell with Dumbledore."

"He's a man of many surprises," replied Minerva, not only thinking of Poppy's declaration.

Minerva enjoyed Poppy's company very much. She was a brusque witch, who said what she thought and was not afraid to offend if she thought it in everyone's best interest. The two witches walked back up to the house over forty minutes later, passing several people on their way who were standing in small groups holding their plates in one hand and eating their food happily with their free fingers. Minerva had finished eating but still had enough food on her plate to look as though she hadn't touched a single morsel.

When they stepped through the doors into the buffet room, Minerva was greeted with an unusual sight. Instead of plates vanishing or being cleaned to a dazzling sparkle, some waiters were rushing around picking up empty dishes with their own hands, while others were replacing them with new dishes that they had apparently carried all the way from the kitchens. It looked like tiring, sweaty work to Minerva and probably to every other witch or wizard who was so used to using magic.

Dumbledore had been right. He had told her years ago that people of the wizarding world do not appreciate the muggle way of life as they should, and Minerva could see that he was speaking the truth. They all, including Minerva, took for granted the fact that a flick of the wand could vanish a plate of food and replace it immediately with another. Minerva wondered if the witch Dumbledore was 'practically living with' thought in the same attentive ways that he did.

"Everyone's coming in," Poppy said.

Minerva turned and saw a flock of witches and wizards coming back into the house from the garden; many of them carrying empty plates. It seemed that they were being shepherded by several waiters into the buffet room. One of the waiters made himself heard over the noise of the crowd.

"Please move as far as possible into the room," he said in a deep, booming voice.

Shouting above a huge number of people was no easy task for the waiters without a _sonorous_ spell. This waiter did very well, Minerva thought vaguely as she and Poppy moved with further into the room alongside the mass of people from the garden. A quick glance around told Minerva that the two women from earlier were not in this large group of witches and wizards. It was with relief that she realised this – even though her anger had ebbed slightly, who knows how she would react if she came face to face with them now.

Several people were already standing around in small groups, some with their glasses refilled; others still holding plates full of food, waiting to find out why everyone was suddenly coming back inside. Minerva spotted her family standing with the Weasleys. She moved over to them and Poppy went to find her brother.

"Do you know what's going on, Minerva?" her father asked as she joined the group.

"Albus is making a speech, I think," she replied.

Her grandfather caught her eye and gave her a significant look, but she looked away quickly. When did he become so enlightened about her thoughts of Dumbledore? Or was she just sensing something that was more like concern and embellishing it in her mind? Her anger had significantly abated but her grandfather still kept his eyes on her. She exhaled loudly through her nostrils and turned to catch a waiter's eye. She was pleased when the blonde waiter came over to her.

"I don't suppose you have any juice, do you?"

"I'll fetch some for you right away, Ma'am," he said in his well-to-do English accent. "Do you desire any specific flavour?"

"Just nothing too sweet," she replied.

The waiter gave her a small bow, turned and walked into the growing crowd.

After several minutes, the room seemed full to bursting through the walls. The waiter had not yet returned with Minerva's drink – perhaps this was muggle service. She had retrieved some of her usual energy through her lunch, but her tiredness was still hanging over her like a maddening cloud, and each time she thought of Dumbledore talking about her with Prunella Harper who was practically living with him, it sparked her irritation and dampened her already weary spirits.

All of a sudden, a hush descended on the room and Minerva turned to face the direction in which several witches and wizards were pointing. At the end of the long dining room, standing imposingly on a small stool between two tall windows opposite the doors was Albus Dumbledore in his blazing white clothes and absurd purple shoes.

"Your juice, Ma'am." Minerva turned to see the young waiter holding a large glass of cold apple juice.

"Thank you," she whispered as the room fell to complete silence. She turned from the blonde boy just as Dumbledore began to speak.

"My dear friends," he said warmly. "I beg your forgiveness and hope that you can bear with my waffling sermon. I have two rather pleasing announcements to make."

Minerva could not help but notice that Dumbledore's long hair and beard was fluttering in the breeze through the open doors which led into the garden.

"The first is that I shall assault your senses for only a few minutes or so," he continued. A gentle titter rang around the room at this declaration.

"Secondly, and to the reason you are all here, it is National Muggle Day!" There were a few cheers in the crowd and Minerva caught the first sight of her friend from the Ministry who had got her family the muggle train tickets and who was now cheering the loudest; but most of the witches and wizards either stayed silent or gave a small chortle at Dumbledore's evident enthusiasm.

"As many of you know, you have me to blame for spending the day as a muggle as I was the one responsible for suggesting the idea to the Minister, who, so he informs me, is sadly bound to his wand for the day." This time several people in the assembly booed, but there was friendly laughter afterwards, including from Dumbledore.

"It has not escaped my notice that many of you travelled by muggle transport today; and for that I am grateful. It is nice to see so many of you submerge yourselves in the spirit of the celebration!

"Now, I have a spot of history for you. What many of you don't know is that I am not entirely responsible for the idea of National Muggle Day. It actually sprung from a discussion with an old friend of mine… though I believe she has no idea. I would like to share this discussion with you now. It went something like this…" Dumbledore cleared his throat and his eyes twinkled at his audience.

"Said I: 'Wizard understanding of the hardships of living as a muggle is limited.' And the rather dry reply was, 'Well then maybe you should live as a muggle for a day and let us all know what it's like.'"

Several people in the crowd laughed at that. Minerva, however, was standing stunned, listening to the echo of a conversation she had taken part in.

Dumbledore continued: "'What an interesting concept…' I had then mused. 'And what a lot of delicious fun it would be.' I think that that rather over-sugared the lemon drop, for her reply was, 'Oh, for heaven's sake, Albus!'

"So you see, my more exceptional ideas come from discourse with others and for that, I thank you."

Dumbledore smiled at the witches and wizards in the room who were laughing at his duplication of the conversation. Minerva was standing stiffly, hoping that her name would not crop up in the rest of Dumbledore's speech. He had been correct in believing she had no idea that it was her own words which had given him the wild idea to create a national muggle day. To say she was startled was a massive understatement.

"Now then," Dumbledore continued. "I wish to make a toast. First to my brother, Aberforth, who has agreed to allow me to fill our little house for one of my more enjoyable whims."

There was laughter, mainly from hearing the words 'little house' and 'whim', then a resounding noise as hundreds of people raised their glasses and said, "Aberforth Dumbledore," as one. But as people looked around no one could catch sight of him. Dumbledore smiled at the crowd's bemused faces and continued.

"Second, Happy Muggle Day!"

The rumble of voices came again, though this time rather more sporadically as some people were not sure that muggle day actually was a happy day, and others were still looking around for Aberforth Dumbledore.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, "you would do well to know that muggle food does not last long, so please feel free to return to the ample amount of food and drink and indulge in muggle merrymaking. And if you would do me the honour of sauntering into a particular area of the grounds at some point, I think you will find some little surprises there," he added mysteriously.

Dumbledore stepped down from his position between the windows to friendly applause and intrigued faces. The chatter in the room soon resumed as he immersed himself in the crowd. Minerva was still surprised that he had spoken of her in his speech, but breathed easier now with the relief that he had not mentioned her name.

"Minerva?" There it was again – the use of her first name from her grandfather's lips.

Finley had moved to her side and he drew her back slightly from the group.

"Minerva," he said again, "you know you can talk to me about anything that's bothering you, don't you?"

"I know, Pops," Minerva said in an attempt at light-heartedness, which was hard when she was feeling tired as well as irritable.

"Why don't you talk to him?" he said to Minerva's surprise. "Ask him about it… about her."

"What are you talking about, Pops?" she shot back warningly, but felt immediately guilty because her grandfather's face showed his alarm at her biting voice. He sighed deeply.

"Dumbledore's an understanding man, Poppet," he said. Minerva stayed silent with her lips tightly clenched together. "Just think about it. For me. Ah, Albus! Are your ears burning?"

Minerva froze at her grandfather's words. That must have been the third time that evening that Dumbledore had come upon her without warning.

"Should they be, Finley?" Dumbledore asked with a smile, glancing from Finley to Minerva. "I hope you did not mind the little impromptu mention of our conversation in my speech, Minerva?" he said, naturally assuming that that was what Minerva and her grandfather had been discussing.

"That was Minerva?" Finley said delighted. "My word, Poppet, you kept that quiet."

Minerva flashed her grandfather a look of warning and turned to Dumbledore.

"It was a surprise," she told him honestly. "But no, I don't mind."

"I'm happy to hear it." Dumbledore smiled graciously at her and in that moment she found it hard to believe it had been five years since they last communicated. His look was so open and tender that their separation simply did not seem to have taken place. Minerva vaguely noticed her grandfather slip away into the crowd.

"It's good to see you again, Minerva," Dumbledore said, turning properly to face her now. "Your company has been very much missed."

"I'm glad to be here," she replied honestly, but with slightly less affection than he was showing her, perhaps because the name of Prunella Harper was still weighing heavily in her mind.

"And there are more surprises yet to come, my dear," Dumbledore said secretively. "You are not leaving too early, I trust?"

"I don't think my grandfather will be willing to leave a party early; and he most certainly won't want to miss out on any surprises," she added.

Dumbledore lips twitched, but a silence grew between them and his smile was checked. He was looking at her with the same intensity in his eyes that he had shown earlier; this time, however, Minerva thought she detected a glimmer of uncertainty in his expression.

"Minerva," he began.

Minerva remained silent as she looked at a face of hesitation. Dumbledore looked out into the crowd for a moment, and when his eyes moved back to her she saw that he had made a silent decision for himself.

"Minerva, I must speak with you," he told her quite calmly.

"Isn't that what you are doing?" she replied.

"Not here," he said, glancing into the crowd for the second time. "What I need to say is a matter of some importance."

"Let us go somewhere alone then," she said, wishing that the blush which suddenly rose in her cheeks would fade.

"It is important that I not be seen alone with you," Dumbledore said mysteriously, looking back at her. "There is a small door to a room on the third floor." And he proceeded to tell her exactly where. "…it is the seventh door on the right. Will you be there in half an hour?"

"Yes," she replied, shocked at his caution. "I'll be there."

Dumbledore seemed quite relaxed now that he had spoken these words. Minerva, however, was privately far from composed. His words had seemed urgent, even if he had spoken them steadily, and Minerva's intrigue was growing with every second. What could he possibly wish to say to her that was important enough to have to find somewhere in confidence? Her mind was reeling as Dumbledore was once again whisked away by more witches who were vying for his attentions.

-

The half an hour crawled by as time always does when one wishes the opposite. After Dumbledore's speech Minerva had moved to the garden with Poppy, Cedrella, Mysie and Cameron and they were talking to a couple of witches whom Cameron knew from the BMCM, the British Magical Creature Market.

Minerva was paying just enough attention to be polite, but her mind was already on the room on the third floor. Aside from wondering what on earth Dumbledore wanted to talk to her about, she was also wondering how to ask him about the two witches in the hallway. She could not get what they had said out of her mind and would be uneasy until she understood what it was all about.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, it was time to break away from the witches and wizards she had been talking with. She made her excuses and slipped back into the house.

Minerva climbed the three staircases to the third floor landing. This floor was considerably darker than the previous two and the ground floor. It wasn't decorated at all majestically; in fact it seemed to have an air of abandonment. Her steps across the landing were muffled with dust as she turned to her right and walked down the corridor.

Through the dull light of flickering candles along the walls of the passage she could see the cracked and crumbling stone of the walls on either side of her. There were no windows and had it not been National Muggle Day Minerva would undoubtedly have used _lumos_ – she could barely see three feet ahead of her.

At the end of the corridor there was a turning to the right and the left. She peered curiously down the passage to the right, but it was unrewarding. There were no candles alight at all down that way, and the low light from the candles nearby was swallowed in the darkness. She wondered when the last time was that anyone had ventured into this part of the house.

Turning left, her feet treading silently on the dusty flagstones, Minerva began to count the doors she passed on the right. They were all closed and, however curious she was, she did not venture to see what was behind them, or even check to see whether they were unlocked. Her interest in what Dumbledore had to tell her was far greater at that moment.

The door of the seventh room to the right was also closed. In the dull light Minerva could see that it was just as dilapidated as her other surroundings. The oak wood was rotten and gave off an unpleasant smell and it seemed to be crumbling like the walls. Minerva would have knocked if she didn't think that the door might fall to pieces if she did.

Tentatively, she lifted the iron latch. The door opened silently and with ease and Minerva stepped into the room beyond.

TBC


	8. The Secrets of the Ministry

**A/N:** Wow thank you very much to those who've reviewed! I'd had the idea for this chapter in my head for ages and now I'm nervous about posting it. I hope it makes sense.

_**The Secrets of the Ministry**_

Dumbledore was already there, standing on the opposite side of the room looking out of a large window that let in surprisingly little light, especially for a summer's afternoon.

The room, Minerva quickly noticed, was completely devoid of furniture and there was no firelight along the walls or in the grate which looked as though it was crumbling away like everything else on this floor. It was simply a large square room with a single window framed by very old drapes which were shredded to pieces. Dumbledore stood next to one of these curtains and turned as he heard Minerva enter.

She gently closed the door behind her and walked towards him. Her curiosity of the house and her lingering fatigue had been substantial enough to keep her nerves from tingling under her skin as she had walked up the stairs and along the corridors, but as soon as Dumbledore had turned a quiver ran through the depths of her stomach.

He did not move when he saw her so she walked across the grimy floor towards him, the silence only disturbed by her muffled footsteps. She reached him at the window and saw that he had been looking out to the east which had been darkened by shadows. A blanket of trees quilted the ground before them and enormous hills rose in the distance, their apexes looming out of the shadows and basking in the light of the sun. Signs of human activity were nowhere to be seen, even though the city of Oxford was close by.

"I'm sorry I was so baffling earlier, Minerva," Dumbledore said, breaking the silence and turning back to the window, watching as a flock of birds flew past and over the forest beyond. "There is something I would like to ask you and it is necessary that it be kept a secret… for the time being."

Minerva was listening attentively, her brow furrowed ever so slightly at Dumbledore's enigmatic behaviour.

"Of course," she said. "But we have not spoken in such a long time, Albus. What could you possibly need to ask me that warrants such secrecy?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said, looking back at her and smiling. "It is not so much a need to ask as it is a choice I have made."

Minerva looked up at him. The afternoon light from the dimming east crept through the window and settled on Dumbledore's face casting shadows over the newest lines that had happily crinkled his skin.

"I wonder," he continued, "if you have heard of a witch who goes by the name Prunella Harper?"

A jolt went through Minerva's body and she stiffened visibly. Dumbledore frowned momentarily, but Minerva regained her composure quickly and spoke.

"I know that she is Dusty Harper's mother, but I am not familiar with either," she told him, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice whilst an image of an older version of Dusty Harper 'practically living with Dumbledore' flashed through her mind. Then something Dumbledore had said struck through her disturbing thoughts.

"What do you mean 'goes by the name'?" she asked.

Dumbledore seemed glad that Minerva had picked up on this small piece of information.

"She is the sister of Atticus Fenwick, the wizard awaiting trial for war atrocities, and subsequently the daughter of Amulius Fenwick who is preventing the trial," Dumbledore informed her. Minerva raised her eyebrows in surprise, but remained silent. "She is divorced," Dumbledore continued, "from Adrian Harper, but has kept his name. The name of Fenwick had been somewhat blackened.

"I have been spending a lot of time with Prunella in recent years," he said, "simply to help her get the trial in motion, but her father is proving a rather larger influence at the Ministry than we had imagined–"

A rush of relief swelled through Minerva's body. Indeed it was so overwhelming that a gush of breath escaped her before she could prevent it. Her eyes began to prick with the beginnings of unexpected tears. She turned away from Dumbledore, but not before she saw his face contort with concern.

Minerva had not comprehended how much the hallway witches' comments about Prunella Harper had actually affected her – until now. She realised in that moment that her earlier anger had not stemmed from their rudeness, nor from their remark that Dumbledore had been spending a lot of time with a particular witch, but from the idea that he could have been involved with Prunella Harper in a way that meant he did not feel anything for Minerva. Her hope had vanished, only to be reignited by his recent words.

"Minerva," Dumbledore began, then paused, not knowing how to continue, not understanding the reaction Minerva had had to his words. He tried again, about to reach out his hand to her arm, but thought better of it.

Minerva was looking up at the sky through the window, her full concentration on regaining control of her sudden fitful breaths as she took in Dumbledore's words. Her embarrassment and frustration with herself was building; she simply had not expected the words that Dumbledore had just spoken. Nor the tremendous effect it was having on her.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said again, anxiously.

"I'm sorry," Minerva said quietly, but her voice cracked and she spoke with difficulty. She took in several deep breaths, still turned away from him, and regained her composure steadily in the silence.

One final, deep breath and she turned back to him. Her eyes were still glistening, but her self-control had been reclaimed.

"What was it you wanted to ask me?" she asked, trying to push down the pressure at her throat and hoping beyond hope that Dumbledore would close his eyes to her sudden flare of emotion.

He was looking at her intently and his terrific gaze caused her embarrassment to blaze in her cheeks. She looked away again, unable to hold his stare.

"Minerva," he whispered, bringing a hand up to her cheek and turning her head so that she would face him. His touch was gentle and his fingers were pleasantly cool on her flushed face. He was frowning when she looked at him again.

"What has caused this?" he asked quietly, his hand still against her cheek, preventing her from looking away.

Minerva took in a silent but deep breath through the small gap between her lips and met his gaze, intent on holding it this time. His eyes were shockingly blue, alight with charm and intelligence, and piercing right through her.

She felt his hand brush down her cheek and fall gently to his side. He knew she wouldn't look away now. Dumbledore's presence had invoked old emotions within her that she had no power to command – and now, after his innocent words, her eyes had betrayed her – he could see what she felt.

"I… I didn't realise," he said quietly.

She couldn't speak – she had to control the gasps that were renewing their threat at her throat and found it impossible to do both simultaneously.

"You never said –," he continued, "never made any indication –"

"How could I?" Minerva interrupted, her voice quiet and fracturing faintly.

Neither of them spoke. They stood apart by the window, neither knowing what to say but both holding their gaze. Minerva felt as though she had lost any power she might have had over the situation, and now Dumbledore was in full control.

Then something of a smile flickered at the corners of his lips. Minerva saw his eyes catch what little light there was from the window before she was surprised by the feel of his thumb and forefinger under her chin, gently tilting her face up to his. The pressure of his touch increased as he brought her towards him.

She took a slow step forward, taken aback by the way he was holding her, the way he was looking at her. This was not how people who have not seen each other for five years looked at each other. It was not even how friends looked at each other. Anticipation stirred deep within her. Dumbledore steadied his hand when her face was inches from his. He smiled a small smile. She returned it.

His head came down slowly as he lifted her chin further, tipping her head back ever so slightly. Her eyes closed and she felt his lips against hers. His kiss was soft but confident and she found that she very much liked the feel of his rough auburn beard against her skin. She couldn't help it – she smiled.

Their gentle kiss ended when Dumbledore pulled away. His hand dropped from her chin and moved to rest on her hip, his other hand mirroring it. His touch excited something in Minerva and she could not tear her eyes away from his. He pulled her closer and she took the final, small step towards him. When she felt his belt buckle press against her flat stomach, he stayed his hands.

He leant down again and kissed her forehead… the tip of her nose… her lips.

"That was not why I asked you up here, Minerva," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling brightly.

Minerva gave a deep, throaty laugh, somewhat stunned at what had just happened.

"You wanted to ask me something," she said in a voice lower than her usual tones, encouraging him to revert back to the real reason they were in this musty room together.

Dumbledore nodded. Minerva felt his hands slide from her hips.

"I'm afraid I now have two things to ask you," he said, his hands falling to his sides.

Minerva stepped away from him to perch on the window ledge. They were back to discussing business but the atmosphere had most definitely changed. Minerva's earlier anger had diminished and been overcome by a wonderful calm. She felt as though she had released a breath, a breath that she'd been holding for so long she had not realised it had been suffocating her.

Dumbledore stepped towards her, his leg touching hers as he stood by her side facing out of the window once again. The back of his fingers grazed the thin linen of her trousers covering her thigh and she lifted her hands, hooking her fingers around his, absent-mindedly rubbing circles over his skin.

Minerva remembered the great secrecy Dumbledore had demonstrated after his speech and her curiosity began to grow over her amazement of the last few minutes.

Prunella Harper was only working with Dumbledore. He had only spent a lot of time with her – 'practically lived with her' – in order to help her overcome her father's influence at the Ministry. But there was still the matter of why Dumbledore had been discussing Minerva with her.

"I have been informed that this coming academic year will be the last teaching year for the current Professor of Transfiguration," Dumbledore began after a few moments silence. Minerva looked up at him in surprise. "Prunella is on the board of governors, Minerva. In our recent meetings about her brother's trial we have also been quietly discussing suitable candidates for the upcoming post.

"You have refused the post in the past," he continued, looking down at her, "but I thought that now a few years have past you may wish to reconsider taking up the position. Please do not answer me now," he added quickly, "for I'm afraid there is something else I need to reveal."

There was a moment's silence in which Dumbledore and Minerva regarded each other. His brow was creased as though he was deep in thought. Minerva's mind was positively reeling behind her scrutinising eyes. Is this not the very thing she was looking for? Would this not be the fulfilling work she thought was missing from her job? She knew her answer; she had known it even before Dumbledore had finished relaying the details, but her curiosity about his next words was growing by the second and it was enough to keep her quiet.

"You may be wondering why I have brought you up to this rather gloomy part of the house to ask you this," Dumbledore reflected. "The reason I cannot be seen alone with you, Minerva, is that there are members of the Ministry here who do not wish you to become a teacher at Hogwarts."

Minerva frowned at Dumbledore, utterly perplexed by his words.

"Aberforth's owl, although lazy, was not the only reason your invitation was delayed," he continued. "Certain members in the Department of International Magical Co-operation – your superiors, shall we say – did not want me to contact you. If they discover that I have been alone with you I'm afraid your position at the Ministry will be in jeopardy."

Minerva's shock was shown in her widened eyes. Her own department was trying to censor her from something she had a right to know. Not only that but they had gone out of their way to try and make sure she would not attend the party. And now Dumbledore was telling her that she might lose her job if he is found alone with her.

"They bribed you?" Minerva asked astounded.

"They told me that if I were to offer you a position at Hogwarts then they would find a way to force you from the Ministry, yes."

"Why?"

"You are an animagus, Minerva. Not only that, but a _cat_ animagus – you have the ability to blend in domestically and in the wild. Alastor was right earlier; you would be invaluable to the Ministry, particularly in the auror department, so they are trying to prevent me from giving you the temptation to leave. That is why this must be done in secrecy. If they find out that I have offered you a teaching post they will see to it that you will not qualify for it. Enough Ministry members are on the board of governors to see to that. I am sure they will not hold to their bribe and dismiss you from the Ministry, you are too important to them, but they can make life very difficult for you."

"But – but that's outrageous!" Minerva exclaimed. "Surely I should be given a choice. It's my decision to make; they cannot make it for me by not even giving me an option!" Minerva was incensed and she knew Dumbledore could feel it.

"Don't let that affect your decision, Minerva," he told her calmly. "You could do very well in the Ministry. But I would not have asked you to join me at Hogwarts did I not think that it would be more suited to you. That is merely one opinion, however."

"Yes," Minerva mused, "but it's _your_ opinion."

Minerva did not have to say that Dumbledore's opinions were worth more to her than the average witch or wizard's – her meaning was clear, and Dumbledore smiled softly down at her.

His secrecy was obvious to her now. He wanted her to have a choice in the path her life was going to take. He could not ask her openly because it would endanger any future choices she might have had.

"Is this why I have not heard from you for so long?"

Dumbledore's smile faded.

"In the months after I left your cottage five years ago," he said, "your animal form began to emerge. The Ministry knew that I had offered you the post of Transfiguration teacher. They came to me and told me that they wanted you. They asked me not to go to you again. I'm sorry, Minerva. I listened to them. When you refused the post, you had seemed so sure that you wanted to stay at the Ministry, and I did not want to put a career that you appeared to favour at risk by communicating with you again."

"So what has changed?" Minerva asked, curious as to why Dumbledore had suddenly decided to offer her the post again.

"You have," he told her softly.

Minerva felt her pulse rate multiply as he looked down at her. Those two words gave the exact meaning to why Minerva wanted to accept his offer. She had changed. Her work at the Ministry was not satisfying her and Hogwarts had always enticed her, even when she had refused Dumbledore the first time.

"I will need to think about it," she said, but she was smiling.

"Of course," Dumbledore whispered, looking somewhat relieved at her evasive answer. She felt him momentarily squeeze her hands.

"You said there were two things," she said, looking up at him. He turned his head back to the window.

"Yes," he replied, "so I did."

Minerva waited, but Dumbledore did not continue. She stood, keeping his hand clasped in one of her own, and pulled him away from the window – the view seemed to be a distraction at the present moment.

Dumbledore stepped away from the afternoon light and followed her further into the murky room. Minerva stopped when she felt his other hand touch her hipbone and his strong fingers tug her back to him. She turned, feeling his lips on hers in an instant.

She released his hand and snaked her arms over his shoulders, stepping closer as she did so. She felt his hands on the small of her back pulling her body firmly to his. Again Minerva thought she could very much get used to the feel of his beard against her skin. It scratched and prickled and sent shivers down the base of her spine.

There was a noise at the window and she felt Dumbledore stiffen. They simultaneously pulled apart and turned towards their only source of light. A tiny bird was flying away in the distance. Dumbledore seemed to relax slightly. He turned back to Minerva. Her hands had fallen from his neck and he took hold of them.

"I'm afraid we have made the situation far more difficult for ourselves," he said. "If I am seen with you I dread to think what the Ministry will do as far as your job is concerned – at the Ministry or at Hogwarts, whichever you decide.

"I must therefore beg your forgiveness and ask that you keep another secret," he continued. "Not soul can know. I will understand if you wish not to see me, Minerva."

Minerva cocked a stern eyebrow at him. She pulled her hands out of his firm grasp and curved her fingers around the back of his neck. Pulling him towards her she kissed him softly.

"How could I possibly wish that?" she asked against his lips.

With all that had happened, all that Dumbledore had revealed to her, and she to him, the witches' comments in the hallway had completely vanished from Minerva's mind.

TBC


	9. Cricket

**A/N:** Thanks again for your (mostly) wonderful reviews! And don't worry, you don't need to understand the rules of cricket for this chapter – after all, what wizard would understand cricket?

_**Cricket**_

Dumbledore had left the room on the third floor a long time before Minerva followed. He had needed to make a few announcements about the upcoming surprises and he had already been away from his guests for far too long.

When Minerva descended the entrance hall staircase many minutes later it was to a very quiet house. She met the blonde waiter almost immediately. He was looking rather hot and flustered carrying two enormous trays of an assortment of muggle drinks.

"You look like you could do with one of those yourself," Minerva said as she reached the bottom of the staircase, indicating several large glasses of ice water.

He smiled at her but then stumbled slightly and the liquid in most of the glasses sloshed over the brims.

"Shit! Oh sorry Ma'am" he said in his fabulously posh accent, straightening himself up. He looked extremely alarmed at his careless tongue. Minerva raised an eyebrow at the boy. There was an awkward silence.

Minerva stepped towards him and picked one of the smaller glasses of juice off his tray.

"Well, if you're not going to…" she said. She looked at him again. He really did look very hot. "I won't say a word," she added, picking up the largest glass of water and offering it to him.

The boy looked at her gratefully and walked to a nearby table, placing the trays down carefully upon it.

"Thank you," he said, and looked as though he really meant it. He took the glass from her. "I never realised how hard it is for muggle waiters," he continued. "It's awful. I work in a restaurant just off Diagon Alley and I can't imagine doing it the muggle way every day."

Minerva smiled. Dumbledore's idea of National Muggle Day suddenly went up in her estimation.

"No," Minerva agreed, "our admiration of the hard work of muggles is certainly not what it should be. Bear in mind, though, that just because magic eases certain aspects of our lives does not mean that we don't work hard. We just work in a different way."

The boy's flushed face had cooled somewhat and his water had already vanished from his glass.

"That's true," he replied. "I am always on the go at work, even with magic. Still," he added, "it must be tiring work for the muggles." He looked at Minerva. "Thank you for stopping me, Ma'am."

"Think nothing of it," Minerva replied. "Where is everyone?" she asked while he was picking up the trays from the table to carry in his hands once more. It was an unusual sight – a waiter without a wand.

"Outside," he replied. "Professor Dumbledore is about to make an announcement."

-

"Now then, several people have expressed to me a desire to amuse themselves… _recreationally_, shall we say."

Minerva heard Dumbledore's voice floating towards her from somewhere that seemed to be beyond the hedge at the bottom of the garden. Could the Dumbledore brothers' grounds possibly go even further?

"Well, you will all be pleased to hear that this week my brother and I have assembled this pitch for what muggles call 'cricket'."

There was a murmur of interest from a few of the witches and wizards and howls of laughter from the rest. Minerva rolled her eyes and shook her head, but smiled all the same. Following the sounds she found a gateway half-hidden in a hedge just beyond the orchard.

The gate whistled as she pushed it open and a peculiar sight greeted her eyes on the other side. Dumbledore was standing with about thirty others in the middle of a large field in his blazing white outfit and extraordinary purple shoes, and there was a large circumference of people surrounding them.

These people were sitting at tables of varying sizes and they seemed to mark the edges of the pitch about half the size of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. They were muttering to themselves, clearly not wishing to take any part in a muggle sport of any kind but quite interested in watching one all the same. Minerva was with them. She had heard of the muggle sport but had no idea of the rules and no intention of discovering them.

She watched Dumbledore for a few minutes as he explained the rules to the remaining people who were standing around him. Then her eye was caught by the flaming red hair of the Weasleys who were sitting to her right several tables away from the gate.

"Minerva!" Cameron said. He was at the Weasleys' table along with Poppy, Percival, Alastor and, to Minerva's distaste, Dusty Harper. She did not look too keen on being at this particular table and Minerva wondered how on earth she had ended up there.

"Where have you been?" asked Cameron as Minerva sat down at the round table in a chair closest to the edge of the pitch area.

There was no shade on this side of the pitch, so the warm sunlight pounded her skin pleasantly – although Minerva knew that in a while they would all be far too hot.

"Sorry," she answered, offering no excuse for her absence.

She turned her chair so that it faced the cricket pitch, just as many others had done on the tables beside her. Dumbledore seemed still to be explaining the rules of cricket to the baffled looking witches and wizards before him. He was pointing, making actions that looked like he was described what hitting a bludger looks like, and he was swinging his arm over his head or sweeping it before him as though he was wiping the surface of a table.

A friendly ripple of laughter fluttered around the tables as the crowd watched Dumbledore exuberantly explaining the rules of the game to the small group.

Minerva thought back to what had just occurred not half an hour ago in the room on the third floor. She could still bring the scratchy sensation of Dumbledore's beard to her mind; still feel his lips on hers. It was all so strange and overwhelming.

The players began to spread out on the pitch. Two wizards stood opposite each other in the centre several feet apart, both holding long, heavy looking planks of wood that Minerva supposed were the bats. Dumbledore stood next to one of these men, practically with his back to Minerva. He held a red ball in his hand that was smaller than a bludger but larger than a snitch. He had tied a band around his long auburn hair and slung his beard over his shoulder.

The other batsman standing opposite him looked terrified. He was a young man in causal trousers rolled half way up his calves. He had a white sleeveless top on (very suitable for this weather, Minerva thought approvingly) and was gripping the bat tightly in two hands, the bottom of the bat was resting on the ground.

"That's a strange way to hold a bat," Poppy Pomphrey said. "He doesn't look ready. He looks like he's just leaning on it for support."

"Perhaps he is," growled Alastor. "He looks as though he's about ready to wet himself anyway."

The people at the table chuckled.

"I think that's how the muggles hold it," Percival replied, grinning at Alastor. "It looks too heavy to swing like a beater bat, doesn't it?"

Just as Percival finished speaking, the crowd watched Dumbledore take a few steps backward. Several people seemed to be looking around for other balls or else wondering why most of the players were just standing around doing nothing.

"I think –" began Dusty Harper.

"Shh!" Alastor cut her off as Dumbledore began to trot forward in his purple shoes. The crowd watched in silence as Dumbledore swung his arm in a big circle over his head and release the red ball.

It shot out of his hand quickly and bounced once. The young wizard with the bat leapt out of the way, giving Minerva a view of three sticks positioned behind him and pointing straight out of the ground. The ball zoomed past the startled batsman, the sticks and the wizard standing directly behind the sticks, and rolled over the grass.

The crowd had burst into fits of laughter. Many were clapping. The young batsman good-naturedly bowed to them and laughed at himself. Minerva's eyes flicked to Dumbledore and she saw that he too was having a hearty chuckle.

After the ball had been retrieved without _accio_, and the noise of the crowd had died down, Dumbledore attempted a second throw.

This time Minerva saw the batsman close his eyes as he swung the bat. The ball clipped the edge and rolled sideways. One of the batters who was lined up and waiting for his turn to bat yelled 'RUN!' and the two batsmen on the field ran towards each other, passed, and reached the others' spot.

No one had moved to pick up the ball that was lying only a few feet away and so more yells of 'RUN!' by the waiting batsmen were called out, and the young man and his team-mate ran back to their original positions.

Meanwhile a young, pretty witch who was fielding had taken it upon herself to retrieve the ball even though there were several others who were standing much closer to it. She threw it back to Dumbledore, laughing.

As the game went on the players improved and the crowd began to get used to concentrating on only one ball. The sticks it turned out were for the bowler to aim at, and if the ball hit them then the batsman was out. That was what Minerva had gathered anyway.

Many people began to take sides and cheer their team on. They had also begun to become vocally involved in every ball that was bowled. They began with a low "Ooo" as the bowler started his jog forward. The 'Ooo' then got louder and higher as he ran and turned into a cheer when the ball was swung over his head and released.

After a while it was the other team's turn to bat and Dumbledore stepped up to the batman's mark to great cheers and applause and laughter. It really was a very relaxed, jovial game. Nobody seemed to neither know all the real rules nor even play by the ones that they did know – not even Dumbledore. And Minerva was sure that thirty players were far too many.

The bowlers had swapped and Minerva was surprised to see that tiny, ancient Rex Kippleford, the sparrow animagus she had met at the Ministry, had been given the ball. He was looking very peculiar in tiny, loose-fitting yellow shorts and a lady's blouse. The cheering stopped and Rex Kippleford stepped backwards to begin his run.

"Ooooo," began the crowd as Kippleford started to move forward.

People had to take a breath at the middle of their vocal build-up this time because Rex Kippleford took so long to finish his run up. The loudest cheer of the game announced the final release of the ball which, by complete contrast to his slow run, whizzed through the air taking everyone by surprise. Everyone except Dumbledore.

Dumbledore swung the bat forward and the ball zoomed through the air like a rocket, speeding towards the crowd. Minerva's hand came up to her face just in time. She had seen the ball hurtle towards her and her first reaction was the one she went with. The ball careered straight at her face and ended up smashing into her palm at an immense speed. She caught it.

There was silence. Then suddenly the crowd erupted into cheers and Minerva, still sitting in the exact same position, lowered her stinging hand from her face in shock.

The people at her table were in hysterics. The bones in her hand hurt beneath her now painfully stinging skin, but her face eventually broke into a smile as one of the fielders came jogging over to retrieve the ball.

"Are you all right?" the wizard asked, smiling.

"I believe I'll live," Minerva replied, returning the ball.

"Thanks," said the wizard.

As he trotted back to the game Minerva's eyes flicked past him to the centre of field. Her eyes found Dumbledore instantly. He had not moved from his position in front of the sticks and was looking back at Minerva with an expression as shocked as she felt. Minerva made a subtle gesture with her hands, indicating to him that she was fine. She could still feel several people's eyes on her, amazed by her startling catch, and she knew that some of them could be the members of the Ministry who did not want her to attend the party. She must not be seen to be too familiar with Dumbledore, which was difficult when she could barely tear her eyes from him.

Minerva could still hear Cameron laughing behind her as the game resumed play.

-

It transpired that the Dumbledore brothers had arranged several other muggle events across the fields that were spread out across at the bottom of their garden which now looked like a village fête. For the last part of the afternoon and well into the evening witches and wizards enjoyed themselves in games of croquet and skittles, and there were obstacle races for the children. There were muggle prizes to be given to the winners and Minerva received a bottle of red wine for her minimal efforts in the 'Muddled Muggle Raffle'.

A band was playing for the majority of the time and several witches and wizards, Minerva's muggle-loving friend from the Ministry included, had admired the cables and wires that were leading from the instruments into large boxes that were apparently called _speakers_.

As the evening drew on more and more people moved to stand or sit in front of the band. They were playing muggle music that few witches and wizards present had ever heard, and they struck up a slow love song as the party guests paused before them.

Cameron was dancing with the young, pretty witch who had been playing cricket earlier and Minerva stood with the Weasleys, Alastor and, once again, with Dusty Harper. Minerva was not taking part in their bizarre conversation about reading tealeaves because standing about five broomsticks lengths in front of her were the two witches from the hallway. Thankfully they had not noticed Minerva, but she remembered with a jolt that she had not asked Dumbledore what they had meant when they said they hope he knows what he's doing regarding Minerva. Could it possibly be common knowledge that she was being considered for the Transfiguration post? Minerva doubted it. Dumbledore had been so secretive about the entire thing and presumably he thought Prunella Harper trustworthy enough to confide in her. It must be something else then. But what? Dumbledore had said nothing that could easily answer that question.

"You are so deep in thought I'll bet my hat you did not hear me approach."

Dumbledore spoke so suddenly but quietly from behind Minerva and it was all she could do to contain the jump of surprise that threatened. She remained where she was, looking toward the band, Dumbledore standing a wand's length behind her.

"You're not wearing a hat," she whispered back, moving her lips as little as possible. She was sure Dumbledore was trying to be subtle and blend in with the other people standing with and around her, so she tried to be as discreet as possible.

"How do you know?" he asked. "You cannot see me."

"Well, are you?" she asked.

"I might be," Dumbledore replied teasingly. "You may never know."

"Well, I did not hear you approach so you may keep your hat… or your fictional hat."

"That is most generous of you, my dear," he replied. Minerva smiled and in the short silence the band began a new song. This one had no lyrics and the melodious music floated restfully around the grounds.

"I think we would rather give ourselves away if I asked you to dance with me, would we not?" Dumbledore said gently. He had spoken the words Minerva was thinking. There was a strange pang of longing inside her that was begging her to turn around. She found that she wanted to be alone with him again so that she could do just that. There were suddenly far too many people at this party.

"I'd imagine so," Minerva replied regretfully.

"Oh, Albus, I didn't see you there!"

Minerva felt Dumbledore's warm breath against her neck as he sighed silently when Dusty Harper's girlish voice cut through the melody. The others in the group turned from the band to face Dumbledore – all except Minerva, who was determined not to look round.

"Good evening, Dusty," Dumbledore said politely. "You are enjoying yourself, I trust?"

"Albus, you must dance with me," she said. "No, no, I insist. All this foolish talk about tealeaf readings being poppycock is vexing me greatly. You don't think so, I'm sure, Albus. I mean, why keep it as a lesson at Hogwarts if even the _Headmaster_ thinks it's nonsense?"

"Quite," Minerva said quietly, mostly to herself but she was sure it was loud enough for Dumbledore to hear. She did not of course agree with Dusty Harper, but in her final question Dusty had unwittingly made a very good point. Dumbledore was sensible enough not to believe in Divination as it pertains to Hogwarts, so why teach it to students who could clearly be spending their time far more productively.

"I'm afraid the curriculum is not attributable solely to me, Dusty," Dumbledore replied, completely skirting the question. "If it was then I think far more students would come out of Hogwarts qualified as muggle sweet manufacturers. I came across a rather marvellous pink and yellow sweet the other day called a rhubarb and custard–"

"How very strange, Albus," Dusty said before anyone else could get a word in. "Now we must dance," she added impatiently.

There was little anyone could do. Out of the corner of her eye, Minerva could see Dusty holding out her hand to Dumbledore and she felt a stab of irritation. She saw Dumbledore's hand as it took hold of Dusty's. Minerva looked down as they past. It was not as though she was jealous of Dusty; on the contrary Dusty was behaving decidedly pompously. Rather it was the twinge of disappointment inside her that told her she should be the one standing in his arms.

She raised her eyes, pushing down her frustration with determination and she immediately caught Dumbledore's eye as he turned. His eyes twinkled at her as they creased into a striking smile. It was a testament to her self-restraint that Minerva did not laugh out loud: Dumbledore was wearing what looked alarmingly like a pirate captain's hat.

TBC


End file.
